


Catch

by SpiralsRespite



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiralsRespite/pseuds/SpiralsRespite
Summary: After Tony Stark rescues Steve Rogers from certain death, they win each others' high regard. However, the next time their paths cross, circumstances aren't exactly conducive to building a friendship. Instead, the opposite, an unyielding detestation, grows. Or so they tell themselves.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	1. Freefall

_[ Steve ]_

An earsplitting bang resounded through the ship, and a searing gash bloomed on Steve’s side.

Falling sideways and hitting the wall hard, Steve fought to keep his eyes open against the fierce pain screaming through his body. He had a target to keep in his sights. But, his vision had gone blurry, and the wind ripping through the ship and blasting his face really wasn’t helping. 

Fuck, wind. That could only mean that the nazi bastard who had just skimmed him with what could only be described as a fucking death ray had opened the ship’s hatch and was seconds from escape. Gripping his side and gritting his teeth, Steve managed to get himself to the door onto the ship’s cargo hold. And-

Aaah shit. That really didn’t help things.

Heart rate spiking, Steve stumbled back from the gaping hole in the side of the jet. Below him, he watched as the rapidly shrinking form of the nazi he’d been trying to apprehend plummeted back to Earth. There was no sign of a parachute on him. Steve had been sent to bring the man in for interrogation, not to kill him. He had failed.

Yet, all thoughts of the mission that had been consuming his attention just seconds before had fallen away at the sight of the staggering drop two feet away from where Steve stood pressed up against the wall and dragging in sharp breaths. 

Luckily, interspersed along the walls, there were enough holds for equipment that Steve could clutch onto, but his hands were slippery with blood from the wound in his side. Also, whatever had blasted the hole in the ship had taken off two of the turbines, too. So, now the whole thing was going down fast. 

Fuck, Steve had only been alive in this new century for what, two months? And he was already on the way to his second death by plane crash. 

The air whistling over his skin and the way his guts were plunging pulled the memory of his last day in 1945 over him in a rush until Steve was completely convinced that the sprawling countryside he saw beneath him was really the endless tundra and he’d soon be met by the crushing cold and drowned in that same inky blackness. 

_Reunited_ , Steve thought with a shaky smile that hurt as it pulled on his split lip. He almost laughed, delirious with the fear as the earth raced towards him. 

Fuck. No. No, no, no. That time had been a sacrifice for a mission and a worthy cause. This time, Steve had already failed his mission, but this excursion had only been a small step in a much larger operation to take down this nazi resurgence. There was still evil to be quelled and lives to be saved, damn it.

Steve scanned the ship’s hold for the parachutes. Spotting them on the far wall to his right and dangerously close to being ripped off by the wind, he set to work furiously planning out the best course over to them. It only took a second, and he was already moving steadily in their direction, edging closer along the hole and doing his damnedest to ignore the air and nausea surging over him.

Then, the sun was flashing in his eyes. No, the sun flashing off of something. The ship lurched upwards. It rose minutely for a few seconds before it tilted on its side, throwing Steve backward. His heart jumped into his throat, and he just barely managed to grab hold of a handle sticking off the wall. The ship was jostled again and then came to a stop.

Sure, he wasn’t falling anymore, but now he was hanging onto some metal fixture of questionable integrity, suspended over a drop of certain death. He watched numbly as the tear in his side continued to thickly bleed and the droplets fell to earth. 

Rather than succumb to the terror again, Steve firmly focused his mind elsewhere. Maybe if he swung himself over with enough momentum, he could snatch a parachute and make it out of this. But… wait. Why had they stopped falling?

Suddenly, the sun was flashing in his eyes again, flashing off of something. Something metal and obnoxiously red.

“Holy fuck, J! You weren’t kidding!” came a modulated voice from the metal man.

Steve stared as the robot rose through the hole into the ship until its face was across from his and he could see his own stiff expression reflected off the shiny helmet.

“Holy shit…” it mumbled, something like awe in its voice.

Steve’s face twisted as his grip slipped, and he gasped in a choked voice, “Please. Help. Can’t you- ”

There was a harsh snap as the handle he’d been clinging onto broke off the wall. And then there was air whipping all around him as he entered back into the sickeningly familiar feeling of freefall.

_[ Tony ]_

Tony felt the energy surge through the suit as he took aim on the nazi aircraft. From this distance, it was only a dot on the horizon. But, being Tony Stark, his systems easily zeroed in on the target and fired. The force of the blast sent him whaling backwards, and the air around him blistered with heat. 

Alright, so it needed work then.

Earlier that morning, after JARVIS had informed him that the AI had made a breakthrough in their investigations into an underground nazi organization with an obsession with killing innocents in the most gruesome, downright blood-curdling ways, Tony had leapt into his Ironman armor and blasted off to down the creepy fuckers. Normally, Tony wouldn’t ever consider leaving his bed before noon after a long night in the workshop. He also normally wouldn’t really jump to offing people. But, god, would he make an exception for these bastards. The footage he’d uncovered of some of their intimidation tactics of state officials had been plaguing his nightmares for the past month. Plus, it was without a doubt one of the heads of this nazi group that would be on board this ship and no one else, meaning there weren’t going to be any lackeys of debatable devotion caught in the crossfire.

Halfway through the flight into the midwestern US, JARVIS had made the suggestion of testing the long distance targeting system he’d developed last weekend. It was a bit overkill to knock the plane out of the sky and send the guy to a fiery death, so Tony had hesitated. But then the contorted faces of the organization’s victims had flashed before his eyes, and he’d agreed.

Regaining his balance after the shockwaves hit him, Tony set off to make sure the ship didn’t crash into anything important. It was nothing but untamed prairie rolling for miles, but Tony figured he didn’t want the smouldering wreckage starting any wildfires. It would be easy enough to extinguish the wreck and then call in some local officials for its disposal. He might even make it back in time for that press conference Pepper had been on his tail about all week, which was good since he kind of owed her one after the fiasco at the governor’s-

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted his thoughts, “it appears as though, despite our thorough research into this particular excursion of the nazi scum, the man was not sitting in the cockpit as expected, but for some reason was compelled to stand in the cargo hold, where our hit landed. He has now fallen out of the plane.”

“Parachute?” Tony asked.

“No, sir.”

“Alright. Any idea why our intel was off?”

“Actually, I’m just picking up on a reason why now. There is another individual on board. Male and not in the ranks of known members and associates of this organization.”

Usually JARVIS would have given him a name and profession, maybe even a rundown on their background. Tony frowned. “Any identification?” 

“I’m sorry. I’m having trouble- ” the AI broke off.

“JARVIS? What is it?”

“I doubt there’s a flaw in my database or coding, but I can hardly think of any other way to explain it... This mystery individual’s genetic make-up matches with that of Captain Steve Rogers.”

“What?” Tony choked. “Come on, J. Is now really the time to pull my leg? I just shot down a plane, I’m not in the mood to be reminded of the raging crush of my childhood. Okay, and teenage years. Okay, maybe I never really was able to shake that one. Regardless, I thought I programmed you with better sensibilities than this. Or at the very least, a better sense of humor.”

“I’m not joking, sir. Unless the suit’s scanning mechanisms are damaged, Steven Grant Rogers is standing in the vessel’s cargo hold.”

“Captain America is alive.”

“It would seem so.”

“And he’s on that ship.”

“Yes, that is what I’m saying.”

“The one I just shot down.”

“The very same.”

“Fuck, J!” Tony shouted and amped up the thrust of his boots’ jets. “I am _not_ about to become Cap’s murderer. If it even is him, that is. Well, I guess we’re en route to find out.”

It wasn’t much longer until he collided into the smoking ship, shoving it upwards as soon as he made contact because shit, the thing was falling fast. Unfortunately, the weight was too much for the suit to sustain for long, so Tony gave it a last heave that turned the ship on its side rather than raised it. 

“Fuck!” Tony cursed. “JARVIS, deploy auxiliary mechanisms T27 through 38!”

Immediately, miniature rockets released from the ironman armor and fastened themselves to the ship’s exterior, and its descent slowed to a stop.

Tony took a second to catch his breath and clear his head that was dizzy with the prospect of a living, breathing Steve Rogers waiting in the ship above him.

No, he was being ridiculous. The suit’s systems must’ve been fried by the long distance blast from earlier because Steve Rogers alive was just- just impossible. His brain must still be sluggish and gullible from waking up so early. What else could explain the tightening anticipation in his chest as if he was going to fly up to find anything other than smoldering metal or at the very best a Steve Rogers look-alike? 

Before the curiosity killed him, Tony rose through the hole he himself had blasted into the ship.

Bruised and bloodstained, a man was indeed inside. He was dangling over the hole on a metal handle, adorned in a battered navy blue uniform, and staring down at Tony with azure blue eyes and a shock of blonde hair that had been blown in all directions.

His breath caught in his throat. Steve Rogers. It was unmistakably Steve fucking Rogers. Tony would recognize that sharp jaw, strong nose, and bold eyes anywhere.

“Holy fuck, J! You weren’t kidding!” he blurted as he dazedly flew in closer. 

Now face to face with the legend himself, Tony couldn’t help but whisper, “Holy shit…”

He would’ve hovered there gawking for the next half hour if he hadn’t registered with a jolt the way every last fiber of Rogers’s body was tense and those blue eyes spread wide in fear. 

Caught off guard by the peculiarity of seeing terror in the human embodiment of courage, Tony was frozen in place.

Rogers’s grip slipped slightly, and his face twisted with panic. 

“Please. Help,” he gasped, desperation thick in his voice. “Can’t you- ”

There was a snap, and then the captain was gone.

FUCK.

Horror flooding through him, Tony shot downward after the quickly receding shape of a man. After half a minute packed with maybe the most potent anxiety Tony had ever experienced, he made impact with the super soldier and hurriedly redirected their course away from careening into the dirt at over a hundred miles per hour.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’ve got you,” Tony assured the other man.

There was a strangled noise, which Tony realized must’ve come from Rogers, who was squeezing his eyes shut and doing his best to bury his face into the unyielding metal of the armor’s shoulder plate.

“C-can you please- ? P-please- ” Rogers stuttered, the wind whirling around him so fiercely that his hair was caught in a crazed dance around his face. “Slow down. Please _slow down._ I don’t think I- I can breathe.”

Pushing aside the way his heart crumpled at how distress cracked the captain’s voice, Tony hastily slowed them down and then began a gradual descent.

“Sorry! I only flew so fast because I had to counteract our momentum and- Nevermind. Are you okay?”

“Can you put me down?” Rogers asked, eyes still shut tight and clenching the iron man armor with such ferocity that it was denting.

“Sure can, buddy. We’re going down right now,” Tony told him, in as soothing a voice as he could manage with the man’s fingers digging into his shoulder. “We’re alright. We’ll be alright. You can ease up a bit, I’ve got you.”

Rogers ignored him and made no move to loosen up. So, Tony bit his tongue and did his best to keep some part of his mind focused on getting them down safely while the rest of his mind was absorbed in tracing the sunlit angles of Rogers’s face just an inch away from his own over and over, still stunned that somehow Steve Rogers was in his arms. It was a good thing Rogers was too occupied with evening out his breathing and that the helmet hid Tony’s face from view because he couldn’t take his eyes off him.

The moment they touched down, Rogers let go, swayed backwards, and fell hard on his ass in the prairie grass. His hair was sticking up in all directions, there was a wild look in his eyes, and his whole body was still so rigid. Tony might have laughed if he wasn’t so dumbfounded at everything that had just gone down in the span of less than ten minutes. 

For a while Rogers just sat in the grass, evidently thoroughly shaken. Tony had just come back to his senses enough to think to offer some kind of comfort when the other man abruptly slumped forward with a long sigh, relief apparently washing over him.

“You alright there?” Tony asked.

Rogers waved a hand. “Fine, fine. Just glad to be on solid ground again.”

There was nothing but the rustling of grass for a bit longer until eventually Rogers smoothed a hand over his hair, stood up with a grunt, and walked up to Tony holding out a bloodied hand.

“Steve Rogers,” he told him with a hesitant smile. “Sorry about the blood and thanks for saving my ass. I seriously owe you one, …?”

He left his sentence hanging, waiting for a name. Shaking his hand and laughing nervously, Tony supplied him, “Tony Stark. And it’s no problem at all, Captain Rogers. It’s more of an honor than anything. If that’s not insensitive to say, I mean. I don’t want to imply that I took any pleasure in your peril. Really, I was scared shitless when you dropped, so really this whole experience has given me enough anxiety to last me half the year more than it’s given me any enjoyment. This has been terrible. Except for saving you, I’m happy about that. I’m sorry, I’m not making much sense. I tend to ramble when I’m high on adrenaline. Also, you’re Captain America, that’s kind of throwing me for a loop here.”

Rogers shook his head, amused, and Tony’s heart flipped at the sight. 

“So you’ve heard of me, I guess,” Rogers sighed. “And, before you ask, I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to explain how I’m… not dead and all that. You really should forget you saw me at all, Mr. Stark.”

“I don’t understand. Why- ” Tony started before yelping, “Shit! You’re hurt bad!”

“Ah,” Rogers said, void of concern as he glanced down at the gash in his side. “Yeah, I guess the adrenaline helped take my mind off of that one.”

“The pain’ll probably come swinging back in any moment now!” Tony exclaimed, grimacing at the blistered and torn skin. “And, I don’t know too much about super soldiers, but I’d think, serum or not, you can’t afford to lose _that_ much blood.”

“That’s fair.” Rogers nodded, flicking open one of the miniature compartments attached to his belt and unraveling a roll of thick gauze inside. Huh, those things did serve a purpose then. Tony had always wondered. 

“I should get going,” Rogers announced once he finished expertly wrapping up his side. “Like you said, this thing’s going to start stinging, and I’d like some heavy duty drugs to help me cope. It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Stark, and thank you again. I was lucky you were in the area.”

“Right. But, um, where do you plan on going exactly?” Tony frowned, gesturing at the wilderness surrounding them. 

“Don’t worry, my team’s sent me transport. You’re covered in that area, I’m assuming.” Rogers eyed the ironman suit meaningfully and somewhat warily. 

Tony noticed the captain’s eyes catch on his helmet and remembered that it must be uncomfortable for Rogers to speak to an emotionless faceplate.

“Yeah, I’ll get home just fine. But, hang on. I’ve been rude,” Tony responded before removing his helmet and shaking out his hair that had been stuck to his forehead by sweat. “I’ve got a face and all that, in case you were confused.” He laughed a little.

“Yeah, you do,” Rogers breathed, suddenly tense again.

“Uh, see- see you around,” Tony said, squirming under Rogers’s wide-eyed stare.

“Yeah,” Rogers replied in a faint voice before jerking himself out of whatever trance he’d fallen into and turning on his heel to march off through the grass.

Replacing his helmet, Tony mumbled, “That wasn’t a dream, right, J?”

“No, sir. And might I suggest waiting before taking off again to retrieve the wreckage? Your heart rhythms need a moment to settle down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony: *removes helmet*  
> Steve, internally: OH NO HE'S HOT


	2. Crash Site

_[ Tony ]_

Tony had a killer headache. So, you really couldn’t blame him for swearing so viciously when out of nowhere the car swerved violently, and Tony’s forehead slammed into the window. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark! I didn’t see the car coming, and I had to turn! They just pulled up right in front of me! Are you alright? I am _so_ sorry, oh my god,” his driver squeaked.

“I’m alright. It’s fine, Alexei. I needed the wakeup call anyway,” Tony told him, suppressing a groan. “New York’s brimming with crazy drivers. It’s a miracle you get me around without a car crash every week. We didn’t hit their car, did we?”

“No,” Alexei replied, turning back around in his seat to squint through the drizzle. All the droplets were lit up yellow by the stream of light from a street lamp, so it was hard to make out anything in the murky night beyond. “But, it… it looks like someone’s getting out of the car. They’re- they’re coming over here, Mr. Stark. Oh god, oh god. I could’ve sworn I didn’t hit them!”

“Alexei, buddy, calm down.” Tony lay a hand on his arm and gently pushed down so that Alexei let go of the steering wheel he’d been gripping. Alexei had been his driver for three months now, and, despite his skittish demeanor, he’d seriously grown on Tony. “They’re probably just coming over to make sure we’re okay or maybe apologize.”

“Right. You’re right.” Alexei relaxed back into his seat, and Tony fell back against his own, closing his eyes against the throbbing in his head.

He still reeked of the cologne Pepper had drenched him in earlier that same night after dragging him out of his workshop, forcing him into a suit, and pulling him into a limousine bound for the high class hotel where the gala she claimed he’d agreed to was being held. The smell really wasn’t helping his headache. Neither had the gala.

At first the night had gone smoothly, and Tony had been glad for the change of air and company as he and Pepper wound through the crowds socializing. But inevitably, he had been cornered by a gang of loaded assholes hellbent on getting Tony Stark to flinch. He humored them for half an hour before he made up some excuse and quickly slid back into the throngs of people. But, he kept running into them again and again. He’d promised Pepper he’d behave, so all he could do was nod along to their poorly masked jabs and knock back some alcohol to drown them out. After an hour of putting up with their bullshit, Tony caved and slipped out of a back door, shutting off his phone to avoid the barrage of furious texts Pepper would be firing off when she realized he wasn’t backstage readying to deliver some speech. He’d make it up to her. 

Knuckles rapped on the back window, and Tony raised his head. 

“Mr. Stark, this is SHIELD. Please exit the vehicle,” came a muffled voice.

Tony peered through the glass, scanning the woman outside’s uniform. Sure enough, there was the SHIELD emblem sewn over her shoulder. Most likely the real deal, then. What the hell could they possibly want? 

“Wait here, Alexei,” Tony grumbled before extricating himself from the car (God, he must be drunker than he thought. Maybe downing that bottle of whiskey he kept in the car had been a less than good idea.) and stepping out into the drizzle.

“Fury himself has asked for you. You are to be taken to SHIELD headquarters for a briefing immediately,” the SHIELD agent, a stocky brunette, informed him.

“And you couldn’t have just called? You nearly totaled us,” Tony frowned.

“We did call. But your phone must be turned off, Mr. Stark.”

“Right, right,” Tony yawned. “Well, tell Fury I don’t work for him. Especially not at two in the morning.”

“Sir, this is a time sensitive mission that _requires_ your skillset. Lives are at stake, sir. Are you going to ignore that and crawl under your covers?” she snapped.

Whoa. Okay then.

“Alright, I understand. If it’s me the world needs, it’s me they’ll get. A slightly drunk me, but me nonetheless. Take me away, ma’am,” Tony sighed.

“Right this way, Mr. Stark,” she said, reassuming her stoic attitude and marching off towards the jet black SHIELD car. Tony briefly explained the situation to Alexei then jogged after her even though the movement made his head pound. 

As he slid into the backseat, he was already closing his eyes again, expecting a car ride spent in silence as was typical of SHIELD. Much to his dismay however, not long after reentering traffic, the agent cleared her throat.

“Fury also wanted me to inform you that you will be working with a partner for this mission.”

Shit, of course. What hot headed crackpot was Fury going to shove him into battle with now?

_[ Steve ]_

Steve was seconds from collapse. Unhappy with being chased off for a week now, sleep was pressing in on him from all sides. The tiled floor of the SHIELD compound had never looked so inviting. Fuck, he was genuinely considering laying down in the middle of the hallway and passing out. It was two am, nobody would be coming up to the briefing floor. Only anyone watching the security feed would know. He should totally do it.

No, Fury would chew him out when he found him napping “on the job”. But, the thing was, Steve was never not “on the job”. If he wasn’t punching bad guys, he was retrieving and compiling intelligence and then strategizing for the next time he went out to punch more bad guys. That wasn’t entirely Fury’s fault, though. Steve liked having something to do. If Fury didn’t provide him a mission, Steve wandered down into the recesses of the SHIELD compound to hunt through their archives for a trail he could pick up. 

But, shit, he was spent. It was only two hours ago that Steve had gotten off a mission to recover SHIELD files from a terrorist group in western Colorado. He’d been unlocking the door of his neglected apartment (it had taken him a full half hour to find the key to the place), so fucking ready to fall in to bed, when Fury had called him back to the compound. Being the mature adult he was, Steve did not burst into tears at the prospect of another day’s exertion between him and blissful unconsciousness. He allowed himself a quiet whimper and went down to climb back onto his motorcycle. 

Steve rubbed at his eyes. He hadn’t felt this run down in his life. And that was saying a lot. Yeah, leading charge after charge in World War II had beaten him down, but he’d had Bucky and the rest of the howlies to sternly shove him into a cot or stay up with him talking about the stress and ugliness of it all. And sure, a good deal of his childhood had been plagued with draining sickness, but he’d had his mother to swaddle him in blankets, hold his hand through the coughing fits, and distract him with a recount of the day’s workplace drama. And to put him to sleep, she’d hum an old Irish melody. The notes still played through his dreams sometimes. 

He didn’t have that anymore. And, what was weighing him down now was something more than fatigue. Something much heavier. Something Steve didn’t like to dwell on.

Footsteps sounded down the hall. Right. He had work to do. Kicks to asses. Wait no. Asses to kick. Fuck. Steve straightened up and turned towards the noise. He recognized the stomping of Fury’s boots but frowned at the clicking of dress shoes. Whoever it was reeked of cologne. Maybe that was just Steve’s enhanced senses acting up, though.

Then, Fury was rounding the corner, and a very disgruntled Tony Stark trailed after.

A feeling he couldn’t name shot through Steve, and he suddenly felt a lot more alert. Stark blinked back at him, just as surprised. The man’s suit was rumpled, and his damp hair was in disarray, like he’d been rubbing his hands over his head repeatedly. And yet, he was somehow even more beautiful than the first time Steve had seen him, especially since he’d gotten past the likeness to Howard. Absence makes the heart grow fonder or some shit like that. But what did he have to be fond of? He’d known the guy for maybe five minutes. He was just charmed by the guy’s pretty face, that was all. Steve had an artistic eye, so appreciating good facial features came naturally. It had nothing to do with how Steve couldn’t forget that lively twinkle in his eye and light laugh when he’d taken off his helmet. And, it definitely wasn’t because the feeling of those firm arms holding him close and Stark’s soothing voice murmuring “I’ve got you” had been dancing through his dreams in the weeks since. That would just be flat out embarrassing. Any feelings he had were just because Stark had been the first person to offer him genuine comfort in this new age. Stark had spoken to him as a fellow human, not as an operative under his command or as a director, and Steve had gotten attached. Stupid. That was stupid. 

“Rogers, this is Tony Stark. You’ve been alive in this century long enough to have heard about Iron Man. Stark, this is Steve Rogers. Yes, Captain America lives. Broke him out of the ice three months ago, and that’s all you need to know,” Fury rattled off. “You two will be partnering this mission, and I expect your best effort to work as a cohesive unit. Learn each other’s strengths and needs in the field. In briefing room 400, Agent Samson will fill you in on what shit you’ll be taking on today. The world council is convening in ten minutes, and I need to get my ass down there to take their call. So, I do not have the time for any grievances against this pairing or the hour of day I have called you in. You will work together, and you will work together well. Is that understood?” 

“Yes sir,” Steve said in sync with Stark’s somewhat slurred (Was he drunk? Oh, he might be. Steve could smell the alcohol through the cologne now.) “Yeah, okay.”

“Good.” Fury nodded goodbye and left.

“Uh hey,” Steve said, turning toward Stark. Way to go, Rogers. Real smooth. Wait no. That was a perfectly acceptable greeting. He wasn’t trying to flirt with the guy. He needed to calm down.

“Hey there,” Stark replied with an easy grin.

Oh. Oh no. If the way his heart melted from nothing but a smile was any indication, he was fucked. Get a grip, Rogers, you’ve got a mission to get to.

“Uh, room 400’s this way,” Steve told him, starting down the hall at a brisk pace.

When they got to the door, Steve held it open for Stark and was rewarded with a soft smile. Shoving down the swell of emotions that little gesture of gentleness caused, Steve sat himself opposite of Stark at the long conference table and turned his attention to the dark-skinned man waiting in the room, Agent Samson.

Apparently Samson hadn’t mentally prepared enough for Captain America and Ironman strolling into the room, and throughout his rundown of the mission, he was incessantly either readjusting his glasses or shuffling papers. But despite Samson’s nerves and how horribly distracting Stark’s slowly drying hair curling over his forehead was, Steve managed to grasp most of the information. 

Half submerged in northern Greenland’s tundra, a downed Hydra vessel of enormous size had been uncovered. Apparently its design had been faulty, so it hadn’t made it to its intended destination, America, with its deadly payload. Hydra had sent a unit up there to salvage things, and overtime, a scientific base had been established there, far from the interference of oh, you know, nuisances like Captain America. As the war turned, though, the place was left abandoned. That is, until a new group of unknown allegiance adopted it as some sort of research center. SHIELD had picked up on activity in the area and sent in agents to investigate. They reported back and spoke of shipments of machinery being taken in as well as all signs pointing to intentions to revive whatever weapon Hydra had made considerable effort to transport to the States. After tapping the base’s communication lines, it was revealed that the coveted weapon was radioactive in nature, with the purpose of releasing a massive cloud of radiation that the winds would carry into cities. And, this new group seemed to be making alarmingly fast progress towards bringing about just that for whatever nefarious plans they had. Right now, the why didn’t matter so much as the high number of lives in the balance. Steve and Stark were to get themselves into the crash site and take the place down. 

As they stood beside the small jet, watching the ironman suit approach through the downpour outside the hanger, Steve made up his mind and turned to face Stark.

“Normally, it wouldn’t be any of my business to call attention to, but given the fact that we’ll soon be engaging as a team, I think it’s only right to voice my concern,” Steve declared.

Stark stared back blankly for a few seconds, the words apparently taking a moment to register, before finally raising an eyebrow. “And that concern would be what exactly?”

“You’re drunk right now,” Steve said. “Aren’t you?”

“Hey, hey, hey. Let’s not make assertions.” Stark smirked lazily, his eyes drifting around the room, unfocused.

“You don’t deny it then.”

“Should I?”

“No. I only bring it up because it’s not exactly wise to go into battle disoriented. You’d be putting the success of the mission as well as your life in danger. You really shouldn’t come.”

“World needs Ironman,” Stark grunted, gesturing to the dripping ironman suit landing beside him. “I gotta go. ‘Sides, they don’t need me blasting much this mission. That’s your job, big guy. All I gotta do is locate the base’s core and shut down the systems. I can do that kind of shit in my sleep, Cap.”

“I don’t doubt you could, but you’re in no condition to- ”

“This is my decision, Cap. Not yours,” Stark snapped, waving a finger at Steve. “If we’re going to be working together, here’s what you need to know: if I say I’m fine, I’m fine. End of discussion.” With that, Stark stepped into the ironman armor and the helmet shut over his flushed face.

Shaking his head, Steve followed after Ironman and boarded the jet. Maybe Stark was right. It wasn’t really his place to decide. All Steve could do was hope Stark would shake it off by the time they landed.

Because flying was still unnerving for him, and apparently drunk Tony Stark wasn’t much of a conversationalist, Steve spent the flight fighting off both nausea and sleep. Ironman sat in the opposite corner of the jet, unmoving. Maybe he was asleep in there? 

As the jet descended into the snow-covered tundra, Steve fought back the urge to groan at the sight of all that glaring white ice and the memory that came with it. They touched down some distance from the enemy base (thanks to cloaking technology, they didn’t need to land too far off) and stepped out into the biting cold. Thankfully, Steve’s body ran hot enough that he didn’t need to layer on coats that would interfere with his mobility, but he could still feel the chilly air prickling at his face. Maybe he really should’ve brought that scarf Stark had tossed at him back in SHIELD’s assorted equipment room where he’d acquired his thicker suit and snow boots. 

“Better bundle up, Cap. We wouldn’t want that handsome face getting frostbite,” Stark had drunkenly giggled when he threw the scarf at Steve. “I found a blue one. It’ll bring out your eyes.”

Steve had spluttered some nonsense about not feeling the cold and hurriedly pushed away Stark’s hands that had gone around his neck to pull the scarf’s ends into a knot. That had made Stark laugh that lovely ringing laugh of his, and Steve had stood there taken aback by the bubbling sensation of making someone laugh. He’d kind of forgotten what that felt like.

Steve needed to focus. He was making his way over the craggy foothills of the mountains, and slipping would probably hurt. Stark was reluctantly waiting in the valley behind him for Steve’s word (After a heated argument, Stark had sourly agreed that he shouldn’t be firing the suit’s repulsors when he was still quite drunk). Once Steve reached the base’s west side and cleared it of guards, Stark would fly in, and they’d enter together. The guards had to be taken out quickly and quietly, which was why SHIELD had asked for Steve. A full-frontal attack on the place would have risked the weapon being set off right then and there. 

“Alright, I’ve got a block on their communications and security footage. But I can’t hold it for long or they won’t excuse it as a system malfunction,” Stark’s voice spoke through the device in Steve’s ear. 

“How long have you given me?” Steve mumbled, crouching behind a tall rock and eying the base’s first watchtower thirty feet ahead.

“You’ve got five minutes. Better hurry and get to fucking shit up.”

“Will do,” Steve huffed before launching into a sprint. 

~~~

Steve slammed his shield into the face of a guard before swivelling and lobbing the shield at a gunner on the roof. Before the remaining perimeter guards could round the corner and take aim, Steve scaled the wall and hurriedly snatched his shield back up to deflect their fire. As the bullets bounced off, Steve glanced behind him into something like a courtyard. There were a few guards, okay at least eight, down there who hadn’t run out at the sounds of a scuffle in favor of defending the door. To saner people, a fairly small space enclosed on four sides and packed with men carrying guns would have little appeal. Scratch that. It would have none, no appeal. But, Steve wasn’t saner people, so rather than apprehension, it was a feeling akin to giddiness that grew in him at the sight. Mind blazing through the calculations of necessary angles and force, Steve leapt off the roof and into the courtyard’s center. 

Firm stone walls on four sides meant four surfaces he could ricochet his shield off of. And ricochets were his favorite trick, despite how rare the opportunity for an especially productive one was. 

In the second it took for the door guards to begin to raise their weapons and for the perimeter guards to burst through the gates behind him, Steve hurtled his shield to his left and watched as it shot around, either knocking down a guard or knocking their weapon out of their hands. God, he loved that thing. It was stupid to be so delighted by how elegantly it sliced through the air. And it was probably worrying how fond he was of what was essentially just a hunk of metal. 

But it was _his_ hunk of metal. Steve didn’t really own much now that most of his belongings were scattered across the country, behind glass in museums. He had tried telling himself it was an honor, but that lie hadn’t held long. He couldn’t ignore the way his skin crawled at the thought of his things, his life _on display_ . It was like the USO parading him around on stage, but worse. Sure, that tour had been exhausting in its own ways, with the all-smiles persona he had to keep up, the humiliation of being reduced to a showpony, and yeah, the tights. But, his personal belongings in exhibits? Splayed out and fucking labeled? Now that was an invasion of privacy that revealing performance costumes couldn’t compete with. Yeah okay, Steve had never owned all that much, so it’s not like they’d had all that much to take. But, that just made what he _had_ owned more precious. 

Like the sketchbook the commandos had surprised him with for his birthday that was littered with sketches and notes, a lot of them intimate, from his time on the front. And it had been those same crinkled pages that had been scanned and then projected on an interactive screen at the Smithsonian for anybody to flip through. Or the charcoals Peggy had lent him and that he’d agonized over forgetting to return sooner only for her to bust into giggles when he apologized because apparently they were a gift, you idiot, I can hardly draw a stick figure myself, oh Rogers, what am I going to do with you?. Those were lined up on a sheet of velvet in Baltimore. 

They even had his stuff from his old apartment (Steve really did wonder how they’d gotten these things. Had his neighbors raided his rooms and sold them off?). Like the chipped baby blue mug that had always been the one his ma would fill with steaming herbal tea that she’d demand Steve drink no matter how much he whined about the bitter taste. Or his ma’s favorite pale green vase they only ever used once a year to hold a single Easter lily when they could afford it. Or the worn canvas bag that would bounce against Steve’s side as he skipped to the library with Bucky, his friend babbling on about the science fiction novel he hoped they had on the shelves because dear god, Stevie, you don’t understand, the last one left off with the ship crashing so we don’t know if the captain’s alive or what planet he’s on or if they’re friendly there and do you think we should have brought more than one bag ‘cause I’m thinking of checking out a few of Christie’s, too. Jesus, they even had his tattered childhood bedspread, the one flecked with little clovers and purple blossoms.

In their defense, by all accounts, he _had_ been dead. It made sense they’d collect his things and put them in exhibitions. Exhibitions that preached what a legend Captain America had been and cranked the demand for him to plaster on that all-smiles persona up to a hundred. Yeah, that part made mingling with people nowadays… difficult. More than that, though, the childish part of Steve (which, some would argue, was a dominant part) just wanted his stuff back. Not even just to have (though the comfort of his old coats and pencils would be appreciated), just to get it off display. God, it really did make his skin crawl. This Captain America gig just kept finding new ways to freak him out.

But hey, he still had his shield, and for that he was eternally grateful. Through every gunfight and storming of a Hydra stronghold, it had protected him. It had been with him when he’d nosedived into the arctic, and so it had come with him into this new century. It was a familiar weight in his hands in an unfamiliar world. So yeah, Steve had reason to treasure the thing.

Pleased with his aim, Steve caught his beloved shield out of the air and swiftly finished off anyone still standing with a few more throws and punches. Once everyone was down for the count, Steve turned to ready himself for the next wave of guards, the western patrol Steve had snuck past during his trek through the foothills who undoubtedly had heard the shouts and gunfire by now. He had two minutes left on the clock to finish them off so that Stark could-

Stark.

Up until a minute ago, Stark had been rambling on and on in his ear about how pretty Greenland was actually and hey that was a rabbit over there and he should totally pet it. Yeah, Stark was definitely still tipsy. Steve hadn’t been able to tell the guy to can it because (after so many missions spent either in silence or with only the stiff affirmations of operatives, the freely flowing commentary was welcomed. Also, it was cute.) he’d been fully occupied with avoiding fists and bullets. Now, the man was silent. Had something happened to him?

Right as Steve opened his mouth to ask just that, the distant crunch of snow under a mass of boots reached his ears along with the humming of charged air. Steve rushed to the open gates of the courtyard and stared out across the barren expanse to see Stark zipping around and haphazardly blasting the western patrol. 

“Stark! Whatever happened to waiting for my signal?” Steve yelled down the line as he ran to join the fight.

“Took too long. Got bored,” Stark replied breezily, plowing down a row of guards with a beam from his hand. The guards promptly fell to the ground, slightly twitching from the hit.

“You said five minutes! My five minutes aren’t up!” Steve growled back, knocking back the guards converging on him. Stark was going back on their plan because he’d gotten _bored_? “You need to disengage right now, Stark. Your repulsors are too loud, and this is a stealth mission. They’re going to blow this place if they realize we’re- ”

“Their surveillance is dead, and the nearest guards are stationed far enough off that they won’t hear a thing,” Stark countered, and his next careless blast would’ve landed square on Steve’s face if he hadn’t twisted the guard he was wrestling with in the snow over him in time.

“Stark, you nearly just took me out!” Steve yelled. “Get out of the sky and stop firing right now, you’re drunk!”

“ _You’re_ drunk!” Stark shot back petulantly.

This was not happening. His mission was not about to be compromised by the antics of a drunk billionaire. People’s lives depended on them. Irritation fueling him, Steve downed the last two standing guards and then turned to shoot his mutinous partner a scathing look. 

“Hey, save the murder eyes for the shitheads inside,” Stark just giggled before shooting off for the door and hollering into the comm, “Full speed ahead, Spangles!”

Swallowing back the visceral reaction he had to that cheeky nickname, Steve sprinted back into the courtyard before their time was up. There, Stark was messily carving out the door with a laser. The second he finished, Steve kicked the door in and rushed inside, pulling Stark in by the arm for good measure. Their five minutes were up, and there were a hell of a lot more rebooting cameras in the courtyard than there would be in this cramped entryway, meaning it would be considerably less coverage of them to grab security’s attention. But coverage nonetheless. Now that their presence was known, they had to move fast, so Steve began marching forward with Stark in tow.

“Hey, hey! Let go ‘f me!” Stark whimpered, suddenly distressed. “No- no grabbing!”

Suddenly aware he was practically dragging Stark along and surprised by the hitch in Stark’s voice, Steve released him immediately.

“I- I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But we really need to- ”

“Get a move on, yeah yeah,” Stark finished, his confident air back like it’d never left as he kept pace with Steve’s aggressive-speedwalk-quickly-turning-jog. The clanging of the armor’s boots against the floor was making Steve wince. “Right, you go do your scouting. I’ll let you know when I need your sage guidance, oh all-knowing one.”

The SHIELD agents hadn’t managed to penetrate deep enough into the base to gain access to and learn the layout of the Hydra vessel where the weapon was held. It couldn’t be learned through hacking either because its systems were too old for that. Steve, being well-versed in Hydra’s layouts thanks to over exposure and his eidetic memory, was to serve as Stark’s guide once he entered that part of the base.

“Right,” Steve answered curtly, and they parted ways at the next pair of diverging hallways. 

~~~

Steve really needed someone to punch him in the face. Every time he came across a patrol, he was sorely tempted to let them land a hit. The adrenaline from the tussle outside had worn off, so he desperately needed a burst of pain to get it flowing again as he inched closer and closer to dropping to the ground and snoozing through the rest of the mission. 

Yeah, most people probably didn’t pray for a solid punch to the face to keep them awake. But Steve wasn’t most people (it’s not like a swig of coffee could do the trick), and he’d been searching through room after dusty room for anything of substance to bring back to SHIELD. Turning up a whole lot of nothing wasn’t exactly stimulating. Where the fuck did these people keep their incriminating files? Steve had no more of a clue who this group was than he had flying in. He might end up having to take someone back for interrogation.

“Reached th’ command room. I’m on some overlook, it’s got a rail. Crazy rusty. Which door now?” Stark asked.

“Down the stairs. Take the one in the middle. The core should be at the end of that hall,” Steve responded, rifling through the contents of a laboratory desk drawer. 

“Oh good,” Stark huffed. “This place gives me the creeps. It’s all old and empty. You’d think they’d have more guards walking around their precious Hydra vessel. But maybe that’s just it: they think it’s sacred ground or something. What I’d really like to know is what they lined the containment of this core with to block all of my sensors from picking up on the radiation. Really pisses me off, but I’m also intrigued.”

Steve paused. “...You haven’t come across anyone?”

“Nah, not one,” Stark told him in a bored voice. “Why?”

Huh. That was definitely weird. Maybe they wanted their employees away from the radiation? Maybe the core was dangerous?

“Proceed with caution, Stark,” Steve whispered, ducking behind a desk as a patrol marched past the door.

“Uh huh,” Stark mumbled back. “Coming up on the belly of the beast, now.”

Steve moved on to hunt through the next laboratory, listening with bated breath for word from Stark. He was halfway through the contents of a filing cabinet when Stark finally spoke up again.

“Yeeeah, I’m confused,” Stark grumbled. “There’s nothing here but more iced over old-timey switches and levers. All this stuff’s broken.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, straightening up.

“I mean I’m standing in what’s essentially an overgrown freezer for World War II artifacts, not the heart of a nuclear reactor. No shit my sensors didn’t pick up on any radiation. There fucking isn’t any. SHIELD called this one wrong, those paranoid idiots. My head is fucking pounding, and I need an aspirin. Can we go home now?” 

“Stark, are you sure?” Steve asked. Stark was drunk. People weren’t exactly at their most observant in that state.

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure. Walked around this ice pit three times already. Maybe this rust bucket was capable of some serious devastation back in 1945, but it sure as hell isn’t doing anything now.”

Alright then. There wasn’t any reservoir of radiation gearing up to blow sky high. That was good. Fucking great. Steve could’ve spent his day snuggled up in his warm bed, but instead he’d been tramping through the freezing cold labs of what very well could be nothing but a harmless research facility with an overabundance of security to deter foreign interference and with an interest in Hydra aeronautics, which yeah, that was fair. As much as Steve reviled them, Hydra had been upsettingly competent when it came to planes. Steve should know, afterall, he- 

“Wait. Hold on,” Stark cut into his thoughts. Steve halted his increasingly aggressive shutting of lab drawers. “This little section looks brand new. There’s… there’s a button. Imma press it.”

“Stark, do not- !” 

“Too late. Don’t worry, JARVIS told me it’s not wired into anything big.”

Who the fuck was Jarvis? Before he had the chance to ask, Steve heard something hiss open over the line.

“Oh ho! Shit just got interesting,” Stark exclaimed. “Get over here, Captain.”

“Stark, I think you should wait before going in. Assess possible- ”

“There’s a lift in here. Looks newer. Where do you think it’ll take me?”

“We have no idea, Stark! Don’t get on until- ”

“No elevator music, that’s lame.”

“You’re riding the lift?!” Steve practically shrieked. If Stark didn’t get himself killed down there, Steve might just do it himself. “We don’t know what’s down there!”

“Just a dim room, really. Chill out, capitan, there’s nobody down here. There _is_ a boat load of shiny tech, though. I’m gonna play with it.”

“STARK! Don’t you- ”

“M‘kay, hanging up now. Bye-bye, sweetums,” Stark drawled.

The line cut out.

And there was the sound of boots stomping towards the room he was in. He must’ve yelled Stark’s name too loud.

Shit. Fuck. 

“Stark?” Steve hissed down the now useless line, scrambling under a table as the stomping grew closer. That little shit was going to get them both killed. His opinion of Tony Stark sure was falling fast. But, Stark had saved his life. Steve owed him. And, dismissiveness and arrogance were hardly reasons to condemn the guy to whatever horrible fate awaited him down there or had perhaps already claimed him. Fuck, Steve had to get over there.

At that moment, the patrol stormed into the room. Steve crouched beneath the table, waiting for one of them to wander close enough and steadying his breathing (Damn, was he seriously that worked up over Stark to merit borderline hyperventilation?). He watched impatiently, noting their positions, as they dispersed throughout the lab, waving the feeble beams of their flashlights around, until some idiot decided it would be a real bright idea to flick on the light switch and make their hunt easier. 

The guards stumbled and cried out as the room went from near pitch-black to stark white in an instant, and Steve, his eyes adjusting much more quickly, seized the opportunity to sweep out the legs from underneath the nearest three and spring into action against the rest.

Soon enough, Steve was racing out of the room and through the halls at full tilt, occasionally launching his shield ahead of him to clear his path of guards. He only slowed when he came upon the door that would take him from the bland hallways of the newly erected facility and into the rusting tunnels of the hydra vessel. Frustrated by his moment’s hesitation and spurred on by the echoing shouts of guards behind him, Steve heaved the hatch open and slipped inside. 

Inside, the air was stagnant and hushed; the only noise was the hum of the dim lights and his footsteps ringing off the metal walls. It was the exact same sound that had rung in his ears years ago during every infiltration of a Hydra base. Every time he rounded a corner, he half expected to be greeted by Bucky grabbing his arm in a panic because fucking christ, Steve, when Dernier’s explosives went off too soon, we thought that was it for you. Steve shook himself hard and broke into a run. The sooner he got out of this minefield of memories the better. 

Luckily, what had been a maze to Stark was practically instinct to Steve. So, it wasn’t long until Steve was standing on the same overlook Stark had mentioned. He peered down into the command room, trying to think past how Red Skull himself must’ve prowled these floors. Spotting the middle doorway across the room, Steve leapt down the steps four at a time only to trip over his feet and crash into a table when something ghostly white caught his eye.

Bones. What was once someone’s hand peeked out from behind a desk. No doubt if Steve went back there, he’d find the rest of the skeleton of some Hydra soldier who had been on board when this thing had crashed. Steve might just be sitting in a whole room full of the remnants of people who had met the same end as him but weren’t so fortunate to have been preserved in ice.

Steve felt sick. He had to get to Stark. Had to hear the man’s voice, so gratifyingly filled with life. 

The room he’d directed Stark to was indeed coated in ice. Every surface was frozen over except a panel in the back, where the entrance was still open.

Almost immediately inside there was a lift, just as Stark had said. Shoving aside his rising premonitions, Steve boarded. Thankfully, the ride was short, and Steve stepped out into a low-ceilinged room that had been carved out of icy stone and was filled with an assortment of machinery. Some of it had been disassembled or had wires spilling out, most likely Stark’s handiwork. Steve waded through the mess of bolts and circuits until he came across the ironman suit. Its faceplate hung open. It was empty.

“Stark?” he called out, against his better judgement to keep quiet. “Stark, where are you?”

There was no response but the whirring of machines.

Steve swallowed. Had Stark been- ? Was he- ? 

No. Steve couldn’t afford to dissolve into panic right now. Not when his partner was missing and he was stranded in some underground room hidden beneath a ship full of dead people surrounded by a base swarming with guards. Shit, when had this mission become so nightmarish?

Suddenly, the distant sounds of a struggle reached Steve’s ears. As much as his hyper sensitive hearing gave him trouble, he was glad to have it in cases like these. Hope reignited, Steve shoved past and leapt over the sparking machines until he caught sight of a passageway that the faint shouts were issuing from. And then Steve was racing through passage after passage, around bends and down stairs, following his ears until he skidded through an archway and onto the top of a wide staircase. He stared down into a scene of chaos.

He had entered a cavern lined with offshooting passageways through which guards were spilling into the main room and converging on a writhing mass of limbs, at the center of which was Stark, who they were mercilessly pummeling into the ground. Steve couldn’t make out too much from a distance, but he could see the smear of red across Stark’s face and hear the choked cries they were punching out of him. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Steve was down the stairs in three bounds and slamming his way through to Stark. He didn’t get very far before he was greeted by a spray of bullets, which he lifted his shield to deflect but ultimately slowed him down anyway as a few stray shells grazed his legs. He hadn’t thought they’d use their guns when the space was so crowded that they ended up hitting their own. 

Steve watched as bullets bounced off his shield and lodged into the men around him. There were no fatal hits, but they still crumpled to the ground gripping an arm or thigh. Steve still had no idea what this operation was guilty of, if anything. He’d rather not anyone get shot. So, he charged the huddle of guards who were firing, redirecting the bullets upwards into empty air, and tackled them to the ground, making sure to snap their guns in two. 

When he had finished with them and gotten back to forcing his way through the sea of guards, Steve caught sight of Stark again. The man was now fending for himself at the very end of the room, where there was another lift to descend into the blackness the cavern floor dropped off into. The ground at the cliff’s edge was icy from what Steve had glimpsed, and Stark was getting precariously close, just another few steps and Stark might slip off. 

Bruised as he was, Stark was still alive. Whoever these fuckers were, their intent must be only to rough up and apprehend Stark, not kill him. If Stark gave in, the guards would let him away from the cliff, and Steve could get over there and free him anyway.

“Stark! Stop fighting back!” Steve yelled over the tumult of the room. “You’re too close to the edge!”

Distracted, Steve took a foot to the face and a brutal knee to his ribs. Blood spouted from his nose, and pain flared in his chest. But none of that mattered because Stark was now locked in combat an inch from the edge. And the edge wasn’t just icy, as Steve had thought, but entirely made of ice. Very breakable ice. Ice that was already fracturing.

“Stark, I’m coming! Don’t move!” Steve screamed and flung his shield in a wide arc that cleared his path a little. “No matter what, don’t move! Stark, I swear to god. Just this once, listen to me!”

When Stark kept on fighting, seemingly oblivious to the ground readying to fall away from beneath his feet, Steve, in desperation, hurled his shield over there. It only knocked off two of the guards swinging at Stark before it disappeared into the abyss. But, it had caught Stark’s attention. 

There were hands grabbing at Steve again, tearing at his sleeves, and seizing his arms. Steve pushed back, fighting to stay upright and keep Stark in his sights.

Stark shoved off a guard and turned his head. Blood and sweat dripped off the hairs on his chin. He locked eyes with Steve. And smiled.

Then he jumped. 

Backwards. Off the cliff. Into the black. 

Gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did not intend to cut this chapter off at what could be considered a cliffhanger, but it really was the best place to split things, I swear.


	3. Air

_[ Tony ]_

Tony would not recommend taking on a high stakes mission while more than a little drunk.

He couldn’t remember what series of drunken decisions had gotten him here, and he wasn’t sure if that was because of the drunkenness or because of the pain in his head that was making all of his thoughts drag. Not just his head though, he hurt all over, and fuck was it cold. 

Someone was yelling. They sounded… scared. Maybe it was Tony yelling. He sure was fucking scared. It was volley after volley of punches to block, and Tony’s reflexes were slowing. His only upperhand was the gadget he was clutching, which spewed a small but menacing white flame that made the guards keep some distance. But it wasn’t enough, they’d pushed him to the edge of a very steep, very long drop. Tony had kicked a loose rock into it earlier, and it had been a long while until he heard the sound of it landing echo back up.

But no, it couldn’t be Tony yelling because Tony could hardly breathe out of exhaustion. Then who-

Suddenly, there was a flash of shining red and silver, and two of the bastards reaching for him toppled over. Tony shoved back the remaining one and turned his head towards the yelling.

Sticking out of the sea of black uniforms, there was a pale face atop broad, navy blue shoulders. Tony knew that face. Huh. It was Captain America, come to rescue him. How nice. He looked nice. There was snow in his hair, and his cheeks were tinged pink from the cold. Cute. And his eyes were fixed on Tony’s with burning intensity. Tony couldn’t help the stupid smile that spread on his face. 

As pretty as the hallucination of his hero was, Tony knew he had to get himself out of this mess alone. But, he had nothing but his tiring arms, a tiny flame running on fumes, and a cliff.

Wait. That could work. Well, it would have to.

So Tony jumped.

The wind and dark engulfed him, and he immediately regretted his split second decision.

Tony had no idea how long ago it had been that there’d been enough of a lull in the fight for him to reach for the band on his wrist and call the ironman suit. Hopefully long enough ago to give the suit time to reach him before he shattered his bones on a stalagmite. 

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck. He was falling fast, and the room he’d stepped out of the suit in was like miles of winding tunnels away. Fuck, Tony still had life left to live, people to meet and things to fix and all that. Apologies to make.

Who was he kidding? This was for the best. No more Tony Stark meant less disaster for the world to deal with. It meant no more headaches for Pepper and no more burden on Rhodey. He just wished he could’ve built more. He should’ve done more. Tony glared hard into the dark, excusing the hot tears in his eyes as nothing but the effects of the torrent of air rushing into his face. Dammit, he hadn’t done all he could. 

With a pang, he realized that he’d never make it to the opening of that new wing of the children’s hospital, and he’d promised all those kids he’d be there. He’d promised he’d bring cupcakes, vanilla cupcakes with red and yellow sprinkles. God, he was about to meet his end, and here he was lamenting over cupcakes. 

A familiar whooshing behind him pulled him out of his brooding, and Tony heaved a sigh of relief as the ironman suit snugly encased him and dramatically slowed his descent.

“I must say I’m shocked to find you alive, sir,” JARVIS commented dryly in his ear. It was the AI’s subdued way of scolding Tony for running off.

Still overwhelmed by his latest scrape with death, Tony could only hoarsely laugh and weakly reply through chattering teeth, “Lovely to hear from you, too, J.”

“Well, I hope you take my advice this time and refrain from leaving the suit again. Your body temperature is frighteningly low, and you’ve suffered far too many blows.”

“Yep, I’m very aware of those,” Tony groaned. “And as overjoyed as I am to have you with me, J, would you mind keeping quiet for a bit? My head… I’ve got this headache. Can hardly think with it stabbing into my brain.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

The suit touched down on the cave floor. Tony paced around for a bit, with a repulsor raised to cast light on his surroundings, revealing nothing but rocks. There was something on the fringes of his mind calling out to him. Something to do with radiation and rusting railings and snow in someone’s blonde hair. Tony’s frown deepened. What the hell was he doing down here again? He opened his mouth to ask JARVIS when the throbbing in his head suddenly shot up in intensity. His head was splitting now, and it felt like someone was carving out his insides.

“JARVIS, open- open the suit,” Tony stammered.

JARVIS gave some indignant reply, but it sounded distant and garbled to Tony. The colored read-outs of data hovering in front of his face were blending together into a soupy mess of light that hurt his eyes. 

“I said open the suit, J!” he screamed, suddenly horribly claustrophobic in the metal shell that was usually practically a second skin to him. Holy hell, his head was _splitting open_. He needed out. He needed air. “Goddammit, open the suit! Open it now!”

The suit released him, and Tony staggered out before keeling over. JARVIS was saying something, and the ground was like ice to the touch. The cold seeped into him and kept him pinned to the ground, where he curled into himself and dragged in ragged breaths. He felt like he was dying. Maybe he was. 

What the hell was happening to him? Where the hell was he? Why the hell was he here?

There it was again. The murmur underneath the cloud of pain in his head. Something about radiation. Rusting railings. Snow in someone’s blonde hair.

Snow in someone’s…

Someone’s…

Cheeks tinged pink… and blue eyes locked on his. 

Blue eyes locked on…

Blue eyes…

~~~

Tony was roused by something puncturing his left forearm. At first there was nothing except the pressure of whatever was piercing through his skin, but that only lasted a few blissful seconds before the pain of all the other injuries riddling his body came slamming into him like a semi truck. He groaned.

“Welcome back, Mr. Stark,” an unfamiliar voice crooned.

Tony stiffened, taking in the feeling of plush cushions underneath him and the firm pillow his head was resting against. He was laid out on a couch. Soft, orange light pressed against his eyelids, and the air smelled smoky.

With substantial effort, Tony opened his eyes.

There was a man--he had a sallow face, and his hair was buzzed close to his scalp--seated in a wooden chair immediately beside the couch. A wool coat was draped over his shoulders, and a long hideously mauve tie spilled out of his three-piece suit. He was watching Tony intently.

Unsettled by the stranger’s gaze, Tony glanced around the room--somehow, he was now in a prestigious-looking office complete with enormous desk, various other ornate pieces of furniture, and roaring fire--before turning towards the syringe stuck in his arm. 

“Yes, sorry about that,” the man said, withdrawing the syringe from Tony’s arm and placing it out of view. “But, I had to wake you somehow.”

“Eh, I’ve woken up to worse,” Tony replied, doing his best to disguise his mounting panic and confusion in nonchalance. 

“I’m sure you have,” the man laughed. His laugh was reedy, his smile was too toothy to be at all genuine, and Tony was freaked the fuck out. Who the fuck was this guy? How the hell had he gotten here? Where the hell was his ironman suit? Where the hell was Rogers?

Rogers.

Tony shot upright, the events of the mission rushing back to him: the iced over core, the secret entrance, the low-ceilinged room stockpiled with tech, stepping out of his suit to more freely rummage through the circuitry, the ambush of guards, the chase through the passages, the cavern where they’d closed in on him, fighting on the cliff, and the horror on Rogers’s face when he’d jumped. Sitting up so fast had been a bad move, and Tony winced when his muscles screamed in protest.

“Whoa there, kiddo. Don’t hurt yourself,” the man exclaimed. “Lay back down. You don’t have anywhere to go. We’re here to just talk.”

Tony was about to tell the man to shove it and demand some answers when the fireplace’s mantel caught his eye. It was wooden, stained a dark brown, and elaborately carved to resemble twisting vines. Completely ignoring the man urging him to lay back, Tony sat up even straighter as his eyes roved over the rest of the room, more slowly this time. There was a stone figurine of a rearing horse on the desk, and the complete set of _Innovation During World War II_ was propped up between two heavy bookends on a shelf. Tony knew they were heavy because one of them had left a bruise on his back for two weeks.

He was sitting in an exact replica of his father’s old New York home office. It was identical to the room Tony had come to dread as a child, down to the scorch marks on the rug where Howard had once drunkenly stomped out a cigar and the mauve tie around the man’s neck that Howard had worn the day he’d nearly strangled Tony after hearing word of his son’s latest escapade at MIT.

“What the hell is this?” Tony rasped, turning on the man.

“Oh, I’m delighted you finally caught on,” the man responded. He flicked the mauve tie at Tony’s face with a bony finger, and Tony couldn’t help but flinch away. A smile stretched across the man’s face at that. “It’s freaky, right? Good to know we got our money’s worth. I’d say you’re quite thoroughly disturbed, and this is only a gentle testrun. Yes, this will work magnificently well on the others.”

“Alright, let’s cut past the freakiness and cryptic shit and get to the part where you explain what you want with me,” Tony snapped.

“Truly a man of business, eh? Your father would be proud,” the man leered, clearly aiming to strike a nerve with Tony. When Tony gave no such response, his face darkened, and he leaned into Tony’s space. “Three years I’ve waited to have you, Stark.”

Oh great. Yet another crazy fucker obsessed with acquiring the coveted brain of Tony Stark. 

“They didn’t believe you were essential to the vision, but I’d read your papers. I’d studied your work like religion,” the man whispered, appallingly fervent. “I knew you’d be an asset unlike any other, that you’d bring forth machines capable of unfathomable devastation. With you on our side, we could purge the earth of its wretched impurities with ease. The boss said all I had to do was get him the Captain, and I could have you to myself.”

Tony was readying to swiftly shut him down (phrases like “purge the earth” and “have you to myself” almost never boded well) until he mentioned “the Captain.” That could only mean Rogers. So, he bit his tongue and let the man divulge more.

“It was hilariously easy to lure you both here, you know,” he continued, standing to smugly saunter around the room. “Just cart in some machinery, swarm the place with guards, and spread rumors that we’ve got radiation, and we got ourselves on SHIELD’s radar as a high-level threat in no time. Fill the place with complex tech, and they’ll send Ironman. Use a Hydra base, and they’ll send the Captain.” He grinned at Tony like he was expecting an impressed nod or applause or something. When Tony again didn’t respond, he went on, “Of course, not everything went to plan. We were really just supposed to get you both into the ship’s core and gas you, but I guess we hadn’t disguised our entrance well enough.”

“Yeah, that shit was embarrassingly obvious,” Tony couldn’t help but say.

“See, this is exactly why we need a brain like yours on our team!” he exclaimed, clasping his hands together. Alright, Tony had had enough of this creep. 

“I’m not fucking joining your team,” Tony growled.

The man just shook his head, chuckling. “You don’t have a choice, Stark.”

Balling his fists, Tony swung his legs off the couch and was about to lunge for the man when he found he couldn’t lift either of his legs. Yeah, they were banged up, but surely he could still walk, right? He’d just moved them a second ago, so it’s not like he was paralyzed. Tony shoved his hands against the couch, trying to lift himself that way. Again, he didn’t budge. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” the man waggled a finger at him. “If I don’t want you off that couch, you can’t get off that couch. You might think there’s nothing holding you down, but all the same, it’s quite impossible for you to stand. So long as you are under my employ, Stark, you will be completely incapable of any harmful move against me.”

The panic swelled in Tony, but he shoved it down and forced his mind onto processing what he knew of his situation. Come on, genius brain, do the thinking. He needed to get himself out of here and find Rogers, but to do that he needed to get past the six feet of over-invested fanboy wrapped in his father’s suit. Also, he apparently couldn’t make any aggressive move towards the guy. 

Certainly scratching his wrist couldn’t be qualified as an attack, right? And, if his hand just happened to brush up against the latch on his thin metal bracelet, thereby summoning the iron man suit, that would only be by accident. 

“How are you doing this?” Tony asked through grit teeth and successfully managed to subtly nudge the bracelet’s latch. Now, he could only hope his suit was nearby.

“In time, we’ll let you in on our secrets, but not until you’ve served under us long enough to prove your worth to the boss. Who knows, maybe once you understand our mission, you’ll develop some loyalty,” the man hummed.

More useless ramblings. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. Tony would have to be more direct about what he wanted to know. Before he could decide on how best to phrase “you better wisen up and tell me what you’ve done with Captain America in the next three seconds or I’ll fucking eviscerate you,” the man spoke up again, a curious expression on his face.

“Come here, Stark.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I don’t see how you expect me to get over there when you’ve invalidated me with whatever psychic hold you’ve- ”

Without any of his conscious command, Tony stood and was walking towards the fireplace, where the man stood waiting, firelight and glee flashing in his eyes. Whatever was forcing him to move against his will was doing it by pulling on his body and strained his sore muscles horribly. It was all he could do to not wince at every step as the movement made him acutely aware of every last aching bruise on his body. Clenching his teeth against the pitiful whine that was threatening to escape, Tony came to a stop at the hearth and scowled at the man across from him whose face was practically glowing with satisfaction.

“You could conquer anything, and now I’ve conquered you,” he breathed, stroking his hands over Tony’s shoulders as if he were some sparkling prize.

“What is this?” Tony grit out, unable to smack away those hands like he was burning to. “Possession? Sorcery? Neural implants?”

“Because I like you so much, I’ll give you a tiny clue,” he responded, eyes glancing at the roaring log fire. “Think, Stark. Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m- ”

A tremendous cracking sounded from behind him, and then Tony was sent flying into the fire by a delightfully familiar boom. Instead of suffering second-degree burns however, Tony fell right through the flames and blackened wood without feeling anything besides the rough thump of a tiled floor against his shoulder. With a pained grunt, he turned around to watch the ironman suit step through the settling dust of the wall it had blasted apart. 

“Not that this hasn’t all been riveting beyond belief, but my ride’s here,” Tony grinned as the suit wrapped around him.

“No, NO!” the man shrieked, scrabbling to his feet. There was a fresh cut across his forehead from being knocked into a bookshelf by the shockwaves of the suit’s entrance. Except, the bookshelf wasn’t entirely… a bookshelf anymore. In fact, everything in the room was flickering in and out of existence until the projection failed completely, and all that was left were a white tiled floor and walls, a matted rug, the couch, a folding table in place of the desk, and some metal shelving units.

“And who is this lovely gentleman you’ve found?” JARVIS asked with that same what-in-god’s-name-have-you-managed-to-get-yourself-into-without-me-around-to-supervise air.

“JARVIS, buddy, god I’ve missed you, and I love you. I’m currently… let’s call it ‘indisposed.’ Uh, can’t really throw any punches of my own, so I’m gonna need you to engage offensive maneuver 2C to take this fucker down for me. Sound like a plan?”

“A terrific plan, sir,” JARVIS replied, and the suit launched forward, seizing the man by his arms and crushing him into the wall.

“Tell me where Captain America is,” Tony demanded.

“I- I haven’t a clue, I sw- swear,” the man whimpered. Blood was sliding down the bridge of his nose, a line of bright crimson on his sickly yellow face. “I’m the head of the s- science division. The most I did with the Captain was assist in orchestrating his capture. I don’t know anything about the boss’s plans with him. N- nothing at all!”

“Bullshit,” Tony spat. JARVIS took the liberty of raising a repulsor to the man’s face, and that helped loosen his tongue.

“Alright, alright! All I know is the boss has got this grudge with the Captain. It’s something personal. He’s probably taken him to the lower levels. That’s all I can tell you, really, that’s all they let me know!”

And that was all Tony was going to get because now there were bullets pinging off the back of his armor. It didn’t take very long for Tony to down the horde of guards once he noticed whatever force had been controlling him earlier was gone and he’d regained autonomy. But in all the smoke of the fight, the man who had been terrorizing Tony only a minute ago had taken off. Cursing, Tony rose the suit into the air and rocketed out of the room and down the hall.

He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t even know where he currently was. Was he even still in Greenland anymore? Yeah, the hallways looked similar enough. Maybe he could locate a control room or hack into their security footage and go from there. All he really knew was somebody had “plans” for Captain America, and Tony wasn’t gonna let that fly.

He had to get to Cap because Tony wasn’t some asshole who left his mission partner behind. And because, well it was _Captain America in danger_. All of SHIELD would be raging for his head on a stake if he lost their main man. Fury himself would probably burst a vein in debrief. There were other reasons, too, but they were less straightforward and more… stupid.

Tony’s mind cast back to the earlier stages of this trainwreck of a mission.

At the time, Tony’s logic had been that if he just kept arguing, Rogers would eventually relent and let Tony have his fun with mowing down the base’s defenses. But Rogers's patience didn’t give, and his level gaze didn’t waver.

Then he’d placed a firm hand on Tony’s shoulder. Looking back, that had probably been to steady Tony as he stormed around in the snow, tipping over every few seconds. But that hadn’t occurred to Tony’s alcohol-muddled brain back then, and it had effectively stopped him in his tracks.

“We haven’t got the time to argue all day. You told me you’d let me handle the busting in,” Rogers had said.

“I know, I know. I know I told you all that crap. But, now we’re here, and I wanna blast some baddies, Cap, let me blast some baddies,” Tony had whined.

“Stark, I’m begging you,” Rogers sighed. “Sit this part out. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Cap, SHIELD’s got plenty of technicians,” Tony scoffed. “Won’t be all that missed.”

“That’s not true, Stark,” Rogers told him, brow furrowing. His eyes were sad as he regarded Tony then, and Tony wanted to ask him what he was so worried about. “Listen, I need to get going. Wait here in the valley. You’ll do your part once we get inside. Wait for my word.”

Tony didn’t really feel like fighting anymore, not when Rogers faced him down with such earnesty. He slumped forward in defeat because _god, my head’s still killing me, and the sun’s way too bright to be legal, and Rogers, I’ll wait for your anything._

Rogers’s eyebrows shot up.

Shit, had Tony said some of that aloud? Shit. 

“Uh, sorry, how much of that did I- ” 

“You’ll wait for my word?” Rogers cut him off.

And because drunk Tony Stark was the stupidest sack of shit, and curious drunk Tony Stark was even stupider, Tony had responded with a sly smile, “I did say ‘anything,' sweetheart.”

Cheeks heating, Rogers bit his lip and turned away, and Tony’s heart leapt into triple time because that was possibly the goddamn most precious thing he had ever witnessed.

“You’re drunk, Stark.” Rogers shook his head and jogged off without another word.

Flying through the hallways towards the surveillance room JARVIS was navigating him towards, Tony cringed at the memory. But, besides being another stellar example of Tony Stark’s limitless idiocy, the exchange in the valley had given Tony reason to believe that Captain America was kind of deserving of all the admiration. And Tony wouldn’t let a man as enduring and sweet as that suffer at the hands of… whoever the fuck was behind all this. 

Also, he probably owed the guy an apology for coming on so strong, good god. 

_[ Steve ]_

Steve was glad to be asleep.

In his dream, he was facedown on a smooth floor. It wasn’t a particularly exciting dream, but that was more than fine to Steve. 

Somewhere above him, a speaker crackled to life. After a few seconds of static, music tinkled through: the Irish melody his mother used to hum. His body instinctually relaxed.

“Rise and shine, Captain,” a staticky voice echoed around him.

That was the good thing about dreams: he could ignore whatever he wanted. 

“It’s time for a talk,” the voice went on.

Steve really wished they would shut up and put his mother’s lullaby back on, so he rolled over to say so. And oh fuck, that had been a mistake. Pain erupted all over him, a burning in his legs, a pulsing ache over his ribs, and a twinge from his nose. Shit, all that pain was very much real, so he definitely wasn’t dreaming. Steve blinked around at the bizarre room he was in. It was a glass cylinder, six feet in diameter, stood upright in a cave someone had half converted into a laboratory. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

“I’d like it to be known that I’ve since realized not informing our guards of our plans with you and Stark was a misjudgement. You could’ve been shot, and then I wouldn’t get my fun,” the voice continued from the speakers. “But, I wanted to make their resistance as convincing as possible, and I didn’t doubt you could handle them. Mostly though, I wanted to relish in the dumb look on your face when you realized that serum had done you no good, and you’ve been outsmarted all the same. Come on now, Rogers, tell me how it feels to be bested by the oh so lowly Brandt.”

Biting back a groan, Steve sat himself up and frowned at the nearest camera, five feet above him. 

“I, uh, I have no idea who you are,” Steve replied. “I’ve met a good few Brandts in my time, so you’re going to have to be more specific.”

There was static for a bit before Brandt responded somewhat irritably, “Franz Brandt, grandson of Hubert Brandt, who you killed in the war.”

Right, Hubert Brandt. Steve had cornered that warmongering bastard in his laboratory of twisted experiments. He remembered Brandt’s final “hail hydra” gargled through the frothy cyanide burst from a capsule lodged in his teeth. But more so, Steve remembered the clattering of a dropped tray behind him and turning to see a thin boy staring on in horror. “Papa?” the boy had asked. He remembered the tremor in the boy’s voice as clear as the clanging of a bell. Between sobs, the boy had screamed something at him in German, and all Steve had been able to do was desperately shake his head. Maybe he could’ve done more, maybe even cobbled together a semi-coherent response with the elementary level German he knew at the time, but then the turret of a tank had blasted through the wall. By the time the dust had cleared, the boy had disappeared, and that was the last Steve had seen of the Brandts.

Until now. Honestly, Steve had more than once caught himself absently wondering where the descendants of the people he’d known had ended up. On lonelier nights, he’d even wished he might find the guts to introduce himself someday. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

“I remember,” Steve said, glaring at the ground.

“Very good,” Brandt replied. “Then you should know all about grandfather’s devotion to the advancement of man, his experimentation.”

“Yes.” Steve recalled the pale figures floating in glass jars, their true nature shrouded by the viscous liquid they soaked in.

“He certainly wanted to get his hands on _you_ . You and your blood laced with the secrets he was chasing. But, you got to him first and stopped him there. However, you didn’t account for my father. The second he was old enough, he scoured the arctic for your body every year, determined to finish what grandfather had started and have his revenge on you. You can’t blame him, though. You _did_ heartlessly murder his own father before his very eyes. You stole his father away, and he burned to get you back.”

Steve hung his head. “And now his son’s finally got me. Trapped in an oversized jar and ripe to be drained of my super-serum blood.”

“Oh no, no,” Brandt laughed a static-ridden laugh. “Captain, I am both incredibly like my father and not like him at all.”

With some difficulty, Steve stood, unnerved by Brandt’s unstable tone.

“Let’s just say neither of us had the most quintessential of childhoods. We weren’t ordinary children. My mother despised my gift and left me. My only hope was my father, but with all that time he spent away on a boat hunting for his loathed Captain, he was hardly ever around for me. You see, you robbed me of my father, too. But when it comes to methods of revenge, him and I differ. He cared about science and advancing mankind and all that bullshit grandfather had instilled in him. Me?”

The room filled with Brandt’s shaky laughter. Yeah, cackling never meant good things for Steve.

When Brandt finally collected himself, he finished with, “I just want to bring an end to Captain America. And I want it to be as excruciating an ordeal as imaginable. I’d like to break you. I know many others have tried, but they can’t know what I do. I know just where to press you to get you to scream, just where to tap you to get you to crumble, just where to grip you to block out your air.”

Steve had to hand it to the guy, his flair for the dramatics was substantial. But he couldn’t let it distract him. He turned to analyze the wall of the glass cage, which was undoubtedly reinforced. It would be easy enough work if only he had his shield.

Apparently annoyed that Steve wasn’t cowering in fear, Brandt spoke up again, “Here comes your nightmare, Captain, tailored perfectly for you.”

Chewing his lip in thought, Steve considered the cage’s ceiling. There was a hole in its center. Most likely to let in air, he assumed. He was squinting up at the line between the cage’s wall and its thick metal lid when there was a deafening crack of something separating beneath him. Gripping his ears, he looked down, but the cage floor was still intact.

Then he was falling. 

The entire cage was falling, swallowed whole by darkness. For a few seconds, they tumbled through the dark until with a monstrous splash, they hit water.

Disregarding the pain shooting up his limbs upon impact, Steve struggled up onto his hands and knees. Icy water lapped at his fingertips, and the slap of water against glass sounded from ahead of him. Steve stilled. The water was entering through the hole in the cage’s ceiling and weighing them down. They were sinking.

Fuck, oh fuck. 

Steve’s mind went blank with white hot panic, and his fists flew into an onslaught against the glass wall. The water was flooding in now, soaking him to his waist. 

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, and he wasn’t even drowning yet. 

The water crept up to and over his chest, and the cold sunk deep into his lungs. All he could do was beat his fists against the glass. He could only punch and scream and punch and-

He felt the bones in his hands shatter, but he kept pounding the glass. It would break, it had to. He wouldn’t drown again, he couldn’t. The water closed around his neck, and Steve kept punching. His muscles were starting to seize, he was freezing. He thought of his shield, which would have no trouble breaking him out. 

The water slipped over his head, and Steve could hardly think anymore, couldn’t move. He could hear the grinding of metal against ice as the Valkyrie drove further under the ice sheet. The splintered glass against his hands was the ship’s front windows, and somewhere beneath him there would be a compass floating. 

_[ Tony ]_

Tony wasn’t afraid of the dark, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Honestly, send anyone into a pitch black maze of tunnels, and they wouldn’t fancy staying long. Of course, the suit’s night vision view was activated, and every so often he might pass by a lit sconce, as if this were some fucking dungeon. But, neither of those things made for a particularly friendly atmosphere. The good news was JARVIS had zeroed in on Rogers’s heat signature, and Tony was fast approaching.

At last, Tony rounded a bend and spotted a figure lying in the tunnel ahead.

“JARVIS, lights please,” Tony requested, landing at Rogers’s side.

His left repulsor illuminated the scene, and Tony’s heart dropped at the state of his partner. Shivering violently, Rogers was collapsed on the ground, and his lips were blue. 

“JARVIS?” Tony breathed. “Give me his vitals, JARVIS.”

“His pulse is weak, but he’s alive,” JARVIS assured him. “He might be suffering from hypothermia. Although, with his enhanced bodily systems, I can’t discern to what degree it will affect him. I say we play it safe and get him someplace warm, sir.”

“Alright, navigate us a way out of- ”

Rogers’s eyes fluttered open. When he caught sight of Tony, he jerked away in terror.

“G- get away from me!” Rogers shouted, his voice rasping. 

“Cap- ” Tony started, reaching out a hand.

“Get _away_ ,” Rogers repeated.

“Alright, I’m backing up. You need some space? That’s fine. But, we have to get you someplace- ”

“Hydra’s not taking me anywhere,” Rogers growled. “I don’t care what robotic advancements they’ve made; I’ll tear you apart just like the rest.”

“Rogers, I’m not Hydra,” Tony hurriedly told him. The man had a glare that could make your blood run cold. “I’m here to get you out of this place. It’s me, Stark. We’re in Greenland, remember?”

Rogers glowered back at him, clearly unconvinced. So, Tony removed his helmet. 

His glare dissipating, Rogers whispered, “But, I… I saw you fall.” 

“My suit caught me,” Tony shrugged. “I landed safely and then… and then I had a talk with some mad scientist or something, real freaky guy. What happened to _you_?”

An indecipherable emotion clouded Rogers’s face, and he gave no answer.

“Listen, Rogers, you have to at least let me know if you suffered any injuries,” Tony said, turning his attention to the slashes on Rogers’s legs and- “Holy shit, Cap, your hands, they’re- What _happened_?”

“If I had had my shield,” Rogers mumbled nonsensically, his eyelids drooping.

“No, no, no. Cap, come on, stay with me,” Tony said, grabbing the other man’s shoulders and holding him upright. Rogers hissed at the contact, cringing away in pain. “Shit, sorry! I didn’t realize you were hurt there, I promise. But, you gotta try and stay awake, alright?”

“My shield,” Rogers breathed. “Lost it. Wouldn’t have drowned if I…”

“Rogers,” Tony said, frowning. “I’m going to pick you up now, okay? We’re going to- ”

“Your fault,” Rogers looked him in the eye, something like clarity coming over him.

“I don’t- ”

“You wouldn’t listen. We were supposed to work as a team. Teammates are supposed to be able to rely on each other,” Rogers told him, strangely emotional. “But you kept charging ahead. Thought you were smart, but you’re just reckless and bullheaded.”

That last bit, an echo of every lecture Howard had treated him to, touched a nerve with Tony, and he couldn’t stop himself from spitting back, “Yeah, golden boy, I wouldn’t expect you to know, but being drunk does that to a guy.”

“I warned you not to come on this mission in your miserable condition,” Rogers shot back.

Tony was already high strung as it was. What with being beaten to a pulp earlier, not to mention waking up in the very room that plagued his sleepless nights. And sure, Rogers may be right about Tony leading a miserable existence. But, Tony couldn’t help the way his hackles raised at Rogers implying he knew what was best for Tony, that Tony shouldn’t have been given a choice, that Rogers regretted letting Tony come along. Tony had nearly taken a liking to Rogers, but clearly Rogers far less than reciprocated. How had Tony been stupid enough to expect any different? No one ever could tolerate Tony Stark for very long. And so, he snarled back, “I thought I let you know, Rogers: You do _not_ get to tell me what to do. And I’m sorry the whole Captain America shtick has gone to your head and that you forget that humankind wasn’t made to do your bidding, that the world isn’t hanging on your every word.”

“I wasn’t asking for you to hang on my every word!” Rogers shouted back, incensed now. “I just needed you to maybe not jump off a cliff! It’s all fine and good that you made it out alright, but it landed me at the bottom of a fucking river.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I woke up in a glass cage, Stark. And then the floor opened up and dropped me into some underground river where I nearly drowned.”

Tony paused, thinking that over, then laughed. “You mean you didn’t figure it out? It was nothing but an illusion, Rogers. They’ve got some projection technology or some shit. None of it was real.”

Rogers’s eyes flashed with something dark, and Tony almost flinched away. “Are you fucking calling me crazy?”

“All I’m saying is, they’re capable of fooling you,” Tony returned. “If you choose not to come to terms with the fact that your serum-pumped brain can be tricked, that’s on you.”

“My hands, Stark,” Rogers said, thrusting them in Tony’s face. “You think I smashed them to bits on a nonexistent wall?”

Grating his teeth, Tony snapped, “They messed with _my_ head, so who’s to say they couldn’t mess with yours?”

“This mission’s been a nightmare,” Rogers muttered, getting to his feet only for his knees to buckle. On instinct, Tony caught him by his arm, but Rogers shoved him off.

“When we make it out of this,” Rogers began, leaning against the wall and shutting his eyes, “let’s agree to never partner again. Christ, I didn’t want to think it when we first met, but you’re just like your father. God, I- I didn’t think you would be, and I hoped that maybe you- I hoped- ” Rogers broke off, and he opened his eyes again. His face twisted in a humorless smile, “But you’re nothing but a duplicate of that cocksure asshole.”

Tony wasn’t a complete idiot, at least not at the present moment. If his celebrity status had given him anything, it was practice with seeing through the fronts people put on. So, in the back of his mind, he knew Rogers’s cutting responses were merely the outcome of a volatile mixture of frustration with their failed mission, distortion of his perception by the hypothermia, and defensiveness stemming from his exposed and wounded state. But, the moment Rogers made the comparison to Howard, all rhyme or reason vacated Tony’s head, and a blinding fury took its place. Rogers needed to shut the fuck up, and Tony needed to make that happen as soon as possible.

“Speaking of first meetings, I should’ve let your plane crash that day,” Tony said, taking ample pleasure in the way Rogers’s jaw clenched. “Or better yet, I should’ve shot it again to make sure you stayed dead this time.”

Struck dumb, Rogers stared back, but then his brow knit and he echoed back, “‘Shot it again’? You mean... it was you who blasted me out of the sky in the first place?”

“Yeah,” Tony answered, momentarily thrown. He hadn’t realized Rogers wouldn’t know that. 

“Christ almighty, I’ve nearly died both times we’ve been together. After today, I’d appreciate it if you kept your distance. It’s like you’re- ” Rogers rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s like you're bad luck.”

“If I'm bad luck, you’re a curse, Rogers,” Tony shot back.

Rogers let his hand fall from where it was pushing through his wet hair, and he reciprocated the murderous glare Tony was sending his way.

As they stared each other down in the pale light his repulsors cast, their breath thinly steaming in the air between them, Tony knew neither of them had energy left to continue the fight. And besides, there wouldn’t be any point in doing so. They had both already concluded the other was the foulest person alive and best avoided.

“This tunnel lets out in a half mile,” Tony said to the wall.

“You better get flying then,” Rogers replied.

“What? You’re not saying you’re staying here, are you? What the hell would you do that for?”

“There’s unfinished business here,” Rogers responded, his voice controlled. “There wasn’t any radiation, but I’ve reason to believe a fair share of this facility’s recruits may be allegiant to Hydra. From here on out, you need no longer concern yourself, Mr. Stark. All I ask is that when you get aboveground, send word to SHIELD for backup. Without the threat of a nuclear explosion hanging over us anymore, we should be safe to storm this place.” 

“If you seriously think you’re going to be storming a base while still half-frozen, you really are full of yourself, Rogers. You can’t even walk.” Tony shook his head incredulously.

“I’m warming up by the minute.” Rogers pointed to the fog of his exhale. “By the time SHIELD arrives on the scene, I’ll be good to go. I’ve had worse.”

“Your _hands_ , Rogers. You can’t- ”

“ _Go_ , Stark,” Rogers snapped, his voice dangerously sharp.

Suppressing the flare of annoyance and the accompanying fifty insults he wanted to sling in Rogers’s stupid stern face, Tony simply raised an unimpressed eyebrow and replaced his helmet before firing up his boots. 

_Fucking finally_ , he thought as he shot out of the pressing darkness of the tunnels and back into the vast openness of the tundra.

( _Fucking shit_ , he did not think as the words he and Steve Rogers had screamed at each other did not replay in his mind.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -This has been a rough chapter for the boys and a tricky chapter for me to work out. Some parts will be explained later, but others might be confusing because of how I wrote it?  
> -Smh, Steve with hypothermia chose violence.  
> -Also, everyone keeps falling in this fic. Like, is this the only plot device I know? Maybe.


	4. Clearance

_ [ Steve ] _

Steve couldn’t drink his smoothie.

Not that it looked or smelled at all appetizing. It was a gross chunky brown and most likely eighty percent protein powder. But, the last thing Steve had eaten was a packet of pretzels two days ago, so he was fucking hungry. 

Whichever SHIELD agent had dropped the drink off while he was sleeping had kindly taken into consideration that Steve might prefer liquid foods until his jaw recovered, but they’d missed the fact that, for the time being, Steve couldn’t use his hands to pick the damn thing up. With a huff, he fell back into the pillows of his hospital bed. The only reason he hadn’t resisted being hustled into Medical was because he couldn’t exactly patch himself up with broken hands. And also because Steve knew he didn’t have anything edible in his apartment, and SHIELD would give him food. So much for that part of the deal, though.

In the room with him, a handful of other agents were receiving their own bandages and painkillers. Most of them Steve recognized from storming the Hydra base in Greenland earlier that day. The exception was a woman with shoulder-length scarlet hair sitting cross-legged in a chair by the window. He’d seen her around the SHIELD compound a lot. Her expression was perpetually closed off, solemn even. Whenever passing her in the halls, Steve always felt transparent to her sharp green eyes. Currently, her arm was in a brace, and she was eating a cup of what was probably peach yogurt by the smell of it.

Steve’s stomach rumbled, and he scowled at his temporarily useless hands bound in gauze. Because of them, he couldn’t entertain himself either. A pad of paper, a pen, and some books (all of which were texts on World War II, as if Steve would have a swell time strolling down  _ that _ memory lane) were balanced on his bedside table, and Steve might’ve occupied himself with them if he had functioning fingers. As it was, his only accessible entertainment was the hum of conversation in the room, but after an agent hissed to his friend who was complaining loudly about her girlfriend, “Lower your voice, Captain America’s  _ right there _ ,” Steve stopped listening in.

He was dejectedly counting the speckles on the ceiling tile above his head when he was startled by the sound of something small and plastic landing in the trash can beside his bed. He looked down to see scarlet hair lady, finished with her yogurt and reclining on the bed next to his.

She regarded him coolly for a second before pulling out a cellphone from the pocket of her leather jacket. Even though her eyes were fixed on the messages flicking across the screen in her hand, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that she was watching him. That was probably his ego messing with him, though, so Steve pushed it out of his mind and tried to settle back into sleep.

When he awoke, it was dark outside the windows, and everyone had gone. Steve gazed blearily around the room, at the empty benches, empty beds, empty chairs. He sighed and sat up, too restless and hungry to lay down any longer. Unfortunately, the folding table that had held his smoothie earlier had been taken away, but in its place, his shield was propped up against the bedside table, moonlight glinting off its polished surface like a twinkling smile. Some agent must’ve come across it while clearing Hydra out of those caves. Beaming, Steve leapt out of bed and knelt in front of it.

“Thought I’d lost you, buddy,” he whispered before grimacing. He was talking to a metal disk. He seriously needed actual friends.

Standing, Steve poked at his ribs and flexed his hands. Everything seemed to have healed nicely enough, so he picked up his shield and started for the door, thinking of the vending machine on level two. He’d have to make a stop at his locker first to pick up some change, and maybe he’d have to use some of it to buy the silence of any janitors he crossed since the nurses didn’t want him on his feet until-

Steve slowed his footsteps. His ears had picked up on a conversation down the hall. 

“-absolutely sure you left it here?” the voice of a woman asked.

“I told you, I turned my whole apartment inside out,” a man’s voice responded. “So, unless Lucky ate it- ”

“That’s still a possibility, you know.”

“Nah, yesterday he downed half a deep dish pizza that fell out of the pan. He couldn’t have been hungry enough to turn to harddrives for sustenance.”

“Alright, well do you remember which bed you had?”

“Uhh, I’m pretty sure it was one by the windows. ‘Cause I remember watching some guy eat the pavement.”

“Oh yeah, you told me about that. Dixon, right? He was trying to show off on a motorcycle to Cho?”

“He landed with his ass in the air, and the look on his face was just priceless,” the man cackled.

Steve smirked. Dixon was a verifiable dick, so news of his humiliation was welcome.

“You should’ve snapped a picture. I could’ve made it the screensaver on every computer in the compound.”

The man laughed even harder until the woman shushed him.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough. In and out, Clint. We mustn’t dawdle.”

“Why? Are there overnight-ers in Medical?”

“Mm-hm. Captain America, actually.”

Steve shrunk away from the door.

“For real? Everyone’s been talking about him, but I haven’t seen the guy once.”

“How? He’s hardly ever not around.”

“Dunno. Wait, do you think he’s been avoiding me? Should I bake an apology apple pie?”

“I don’t think anyone would bother expending that much effort just for you. The only reason we’re friends is because it’s too much work to- ”

The woman’s voice cut off as the sounds of a playful tussle began. The sound of sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor was much too close for Steve’s comfort. He was just starting to back away when the door flew open and the two tumbled in. Scarlet hair lady and a man with unkempt blonde hair and baggy clothes blinked back at him, the goofy smiles sliding off their faces. Scarlet hair lady was the quickest to recover.

“Evening, Captain Rogers,” she said in greeting even though it was the middle of the night.

“Evening,” Steve returned.

She elbowed her blonde friend, who squeaked, “Hiya, Cap- Captain America.”

Steve gave him a polite nod of acknowledgement, but that only seemed to further tie his tongue.

“It’s good to see you back on your feet,” Scarlet Hair told him warmly.

“Thank you. I’m glad to see your arm’s better, Miss- uh.”

“Romanoff,” she provided. “I’m Agent Natasha Romanoff, and this is Agent Clint Barton.”

“H- hey,” Barton squeaked again, now sweating profusely.

“Steve Rogers. And, um, you guys aren’t in trouble,” Steve said, worriedly eying the dampening armpits of Agent Barton’s t-shirt. “At least, not with me.”

Upon hearing that, Barton eased up considerably. “Oh good,” he breathed. “Because I mean, maybe Tasha could take you, but me? Yeah, no. Not that there’s any reason for you to take us on. We’re not committing any crimes, I promise!” Barton threw up his hands defensively, palms forward.

Steve noticed Barton’s eyes on his shield and realized holding a weapon known for being the scourge of countless Nazi batallions wasn’t the friendliest of gestures. He set the shield on the ground and assured them, “Don’t worry, I have no intention of interfering in your business, whatever it may be.”

“We’re just here to retrieve a harddrive this blockhead- ” Agent Romanoff elbowed Barton again. “ -left in here. It’s got sensitive information stored on it, so it couldn’t wait til morning.”

“Oh, okay,” Steve said. That story seemed to align pretty well with what he’d overheard, so he stepped out of the way. “Good luck, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Romanoff shot him a quick but radiant smile before marching to the beds by the windows with Barton in tow.

With no reason to stay, Steve left the room and was waiting for the elevator when he noticed he’d forgotten his shield. Though, just as he was turning around to head back, Barton came jogging down the hall with the shield held gingerly in his hands.

“Really sorry about touching it, but I didn’t want you forgetting it. But, you can punch me if you want, and holy shit, is this thing heavy,” Barton babbled.

“Thank you,” Steve took the shield from him and gave him a genuine smile of gratitude. Barton smiled back, and Steve was brave enough to think he might be forging the beginnings of some sort of human connection when his stomach gave a monstrous growl and broke the moment.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Steve said, blushing horribly and backing away.

“No, no, it’s fine. You’re good!” Barton laughed. “No need to apologize for being hungry, especially not to me.”

“Okay,” Steve managed to say before ducking into the elevator that had just arrived. 

He was reaching for the buttons when Barton shoved his arm between the closing doors and blurted, “I’ve got coupons!”

“What?” Steve blinked back at him.

“Coupons!” Barton repeated, stepping into the elevator. “You’re hungry, you need food. I can get you some. I’ve got coupons for a pizzeria near my place. They stay open crazy late, so uh, I could take you there. I mean, if you want, of course. I just thought- you know, free food, and uh- everyone likes pizza, right?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it,” Steve responded, completely bewildered at the sudden invitation.

“You’ve never had pizza?!” Barton shrieked, scandalized. 

“I’ve heard of it!” Steve said, desperate to placate him. “When we were in Italy, some guys were raving about it, but I never got the chance to taste it myself. And of course, I’ve seen all the advertisements for it now and all the uh- ‘pizza huts,’ but I don’t- I don’t get out much.”

“Right, right, you haven’t been here very long, right.” Barton gave an apologetic smile that proceeded to grow into a borderline wicked grin. “That just means I get to introduce you to the culinary wonders of today! Starting with the cream of the crop, the pizza. If it’s a yes to an evening of flavor discovery, that is.”

Steve thought of his plans to gnaw away at a granola bar dispensed by SHIELD’s rattly vending machine before returning to haunt the aisles of shelved case files in the sub-levels of the compound. Then he considered the dishevelled man before him whose eyes were alight with excitement and promised him food and company.

“Barton, it’s a hell yes,” Steve replied and was gloriously rewarded with a burst of surprised laughter from the other man and an arm thrown around his shoulder. Steve stomped down on the urge to lean into the contact. Anyone touching him (that is, excluding all physical engagements with the enemy, aka his unhealthy daily dose of punches and kicks) was few and far between for Steve, and he always had to hastily smother the surge of warmth it lit in his chest before he did something mortifyingly stupid like yank them into an embrace. It had been especially difficult when it was-

Well, Steve wasn’t going to think about  _ him _ .

~~~

Okay, nevermind. Apparently, Steve  _ was _ going to think about him. 

On the subway ride over, Clint and Romanoff had tag teamed explaining to Steve the mission behind the harddrive they’d retrieved. Steve had originally planned on playing it safe and behaving with the utmost politeness and respectability. But too soon he’d been swept up in the frenzy of their story-telling and bent over with laughter as they reenacted their climactic altercation with a cloaked villain at some warehouse in Florida. 

Once they’d arrived at the greasy pizzeria, the convivial owner had clapped a hand on their backs and guided them to their booth. Romanoff, who he’d previously thought of as removed and calculating, proved to be pleasantly talkative and mind-blowingly talented at impressions. Though, she did still keep a cautionary distance between herself and Steve. Unlike his friend, Clint was an individual of few inhibitions, which was something Steve appreciated after so much time spent with people tip-toeing around him, even if it meant Clint hollered song lyrics into the sleeping city streets and consumed an obscene amount of fizzy beverages. His boisterous attitude was infectious, and Steve found himself sharing with them his own dry humor, hesitant and stumbling at first before picking up steam.

Somehow, Steve had ended up squeezed into a booth with two people, who had been strangers up until little more than an hour ago, together chowing down on two large pizzas laden in discounted (thankyou, coupons) toppings. He supposed their shared work experience at SHIELD did a lot to feed conversation. Regardless of the reason for them not growing bored with him yet, Steve was thoroughly enjoying himself. It had been a lifetime since he’d felt as relaxed as this. Plus, apparently pizza was fucking heavenly. He could now understand that all the clamor over it was well-earned. 

Clint had just rounded out his vehement defense of a snack-food called “Pringles,” and for a few seconds they chewed their slices of oozing cheesy goodness in silence. 

Steve was washing back his last bite with a long sip of water when Clint declared through a mouthful of pizza crust, “Find out all about the real scandal behind the uncovering of Tony Stark’s sensuous swimsuit modeling photos.”

Choking on his water, Steve coughed, banged a fist against his chest a few times, and finally spluttered, “Sorry, _ what? _ ”

Thoroughly entertained, Clint passed Steve a napkin to wipe up the water he’d sprayed his half of the table with. A slight smirk curved Romanoff’s lips, but her eyes narrowed minutely as she considered Steve, who was still upsettingly flushed in the face.

“Kinda random, I know,” Clint laughed, swirling a straw around in his fourth glass of Orange Fanta. “I blame it on the pound of sugar spiking my bloodstream. And also because I read it off that magazine.” 

Clint gestured at something with his straw, and Steve turned to look. A rack of magazines stood by the door, and more than half of the covers were emblazoned with the face of Tony Stark bordered by various accusations.

“I knew he was famous for that ironman suit, but I had no idea he got this much publicity,” Steve said, frowning at the rude snapshots.

“Oh yeah. Stark’s big news in this town,” Clint nodded.

“Ever since he started spending more time in New York, Stark’s become an object of fascination for the press around here,” Romanoff said, wiggling another slice of pizza loose. “With his past as a crass playboy, they’ve got plenty of ammunition. And, ever since ironman, he’s become more of an enigma. People adore the speculation that brings. They’re all curious about why he isn’t making as many public appearances.”

Clint scratched his chin. “Well, if I had my own flying armor, I’d probably ditch the stuffy interviews, too. A ride in that thing’s gotta be insane.”

“Yeah, it sure was,” Steve mumbled, distracted by a magazine cover picturing a barely clothed Tony Stark grinning like an idiot and throwing the camera a blurred middle finger. 

“What do you mean? You’ve flown around in the ironman suit?” Clint asked, eyes comically wide.

Steve shook his head, half to correct Clint and half to dispel the image of Stark’s impressively toned torso that was now burned into his memory (only because of his eidetic memory, not for any other reason, of course). “No, not exactly. I had a… a ‘run-in’ with him a month ago. Was tasked to bring in Meyer, you guys remember the whole mess with him?”

Clint shuddered, and Romanoff nodded.

“Was in the middle of finally apprehending the guy when the ship we were on gets blasted out of the sky. Ironman caught me before I hit the ground, though, so I guess I got a bit of a ride.”

Clint shook his head, impressed. Romanoff just asked, “Who shot the ship?”

“Also, Ironman,” Steve said.

“Whoa, dick move,” Clint huffed.

“That’s exactly why Fury’s pestering Stark to sign on to SHIELD,” Romanoff said. “He needs to be put on watch or at the very least told what not to get in the way of. Yours is not the only mission that hothead’s interfered with. He’s blown my cover on three separate occasions. The man’s a menace. Thinks his shiny suit gives him the right to blast into and blaze past anything.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Tasha, anyone who causes so much as a wrinkle in your operations automatically lands themself a spot on your blacklist.”

Romanoff gave Clint a shove. “And yet, here I am still friends with you when just today you misplaced the harddrive we’d been tracking down for a week, among other complications to just that one mission.”

Clint launched into an animated defense that had both Steve and Romanoff snorting with laughter as he claimed responsibilities like catching the marathon of a series of movies Steve had now heard of often, called Star Wars, was reason enough to be late to briefings. And once it came out that Steve hadn’t yet seen Star Wars, Clint started on a rundown of the basics of the franchise. But, after Clint and Romanoff got involved in a debate over the best ‘lightsaber,’ Steve couldn’t really follow and found himself only half listening.

A good portion of his thoughts were still hung up on the magazines piled in the rack behind him. Seeing them had irked him, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was that it appeared that Tony Stark’s life was thrust under a spotlight to nearly the same degree Steve’s was although in a much less flattering light. Stark’s life might not be taught in schools like Steve’s, but by the looks of it, Steve couldn’t compare to how much Stark got flocked by paparazzi. The magazines seemed to have no shortage of images of Stark in a variety of compromising states, be it a grainy photo of his younger self sleazily dressed or his much more current self passed out in a hedge. Stark certainly got up to a lot. 

What it came down to was that the world was watching Stark and had their expectations for him, and Steve was familiar with that same pressure. Just as Steve was distressed by finding his old things in museum display cases and the Captain America emblem plastered on everything from mugs to billboards for the new historical drama, Stark must similarly know no peace from the cameras and eyes turned towards New York’s prized millionaire.

Steve pitied the guy. Now that he was no longer dying of hypothermia and properly fed, Steve could see the cruelness in his words to Stark in Greenland. Before the mission had taken a turn, Stark had smiled so easily and laughed so brightly, and every second of it had nearly floored Steve. But then Brandt had gotten him and, true to his word, knew precisely which sore spot would shut Steve down. After the cold had swallowed him whole, lying in that tunnel, Steve couldn’t remember what warmth had ever been. Then he’d started up a shouting match with Stark. He’d watched as hurt had flickered across Stark’s face before hardening into a scowl of the utmost detestation. Steve’s words had done that. 

More than anything, it was that flicker of hurt across Stark’s face that gutted Steve. The way Stark’s eyes had widened, momentarily stunned, and his lips had pursed gave Steve the inexorable sense that his cutting words had been taken as something nearing betrayal. Worse than that, it only took a second for acceptance to settle over Stark, as if it was commonplace for people to turn on him. 

The regret must have been showing on his face because Romanoff cocked her head and asked, “You okay, Rogers?”

“Yeah, sorry. I think I must’ve eaten too much,” Steve lied, gesturing at the empty platters.

Clint stood and stretched. “Alrighty then, lady and gent. Let’s hit the road.”

After slapping a generous tip on the tabletop, Clint led them out of the stuffy heat of the restaurant. They meandered down a few streets until coming to a stop at the crumbling steps of an apartment building. Clint offered Steve his couch for the night, and maybe ten minutes ago Steve would have accepted. But guilt was churning in his head now, and Steve already knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep. So, he thanked Clint and Romanoff for the fun and set off to board the subway. 

Glaring at the grimy floor of the train car, Steve mulled over what he knew about Stark. Beyond being an absolute knockout, Stark had been the first person in a long while to show him kindness and concern, and in return Steve had hurled back insults. Steve let his head fall back against the window and peered through his eyelashes at the poster on the opposite wall. It pictured Ironman blasting through a wheel of cheese and brandishing a bowl of crackers. Besides perplexing Steve, the advertisement reminded him of what Romanoff had to say about Stark. Apparently, it wasn’t uncommon for him to, as Romanoff had said, “blast into and blaze past anything” on missions, and Steve wasn’t alone in thinking Stark could be infuriatingly flippant. 

Really, striking up a friendship with Stark was an impossibility and a foolish thing to ever have hoped for. Stark thought being Captain America had only made Steve arrogant and rued the day they’d met. Stuff like that didn’t exactly feed well into relationships. 

The train slowed to a stop, and Steve rubbed at his eyes. How had he spent the entire train ride bemoaning Tony Stark? 

Trying to shift his thoughts onto anything else, Steve stepped off the subway and into the station. He was promptly greeted with a line of enormous advertisements all featuring Tony Stark. Just his luck.

One pictured a robed Tony Stark lounging on a sofa with a box of chocolates and a lazy grin. The next pictured a smartly dressed Tony Stark leaning back against a sports car and peering down his nose at the viewer, and another pictured Tony Stark with an arm wrapped around the waist of a smoky-eyed woman. Steve wrinkled his nose and hurried past. None of those posters at all represented the Tony Stark he’d met, but then again, it wasn’t like they’d gotten to know each other that well. For all he knew, Tony Stark might be an idle, condescending womanizer most of the time. 

Half of him was still stupidly loyal to Stark while the other half wanted to believe that Stark meant nothing but trouble and that it was best that they’d cut ties. He might’ve remained split between the two if it hadn’t been for Stark’s words playing back through his mind.

“You’re a curse, Rogers,” they taunted.

Climbing the stairs back into the city, Steve shrunk into his jacket as not only the chill of the night but of that reminder from Stark sunk into him.

Stark wasn’t wrong. 

A siren wailed in the distance, but all Steve heard was the scream of his best friend as he plummeted off the train and into the ravine. The lid of a dumpster clanged shut, but all Steve heard was an explosion reaching his ears as he shoved his way through the underbrush, too late to warn his men that their camp had been discovered. Music blared from a window, but all Steve heard were the jazzy tunes they must’ve played at the Stork Club if Steve could have kept his promise.

By the time Steve dragged his feet over the threshold of his apartment, he decided he couldn’t spend the whole night festering in self-loathing if he hoped to get up for work tomorrow. Because that’s what he was here for: to work. Kicking off his shoes, he hobbled into the living room and collapsed face-first onto the couch. Hoping to buoy his thoughts out of self-pity, he gingerly picked up the remote control from the coffee table where it was gathering dust. Hadn’t Clint mentioned something about a good comedy playing on a channel called “abc”? 

He switched on the television, and instantly Tony Stark waltzed onto the screen, grinning back at him in front of a backdrop of some sparkling skyscraper and insisting that no other company had a handle on the future like Stark Industries did.

“Oh, for the love of god,” Steve groaned, snatching the remote back up and shutting off the television. 

Rolling over, he buried his face into the cushions of the couch. Stupid Tony Stark and all his goddamn advertisements and wealth. Stupid Tony Stark who called Steve “sweetheart” and then turned around and called him “a curse”. His stomach knotted.

“Ugh,” Steve mumbled to the empty room, to the empty apartment. He couldn’t afford to stay upset over some millionaire celebrity his path would never cross again. It would all be much easier to move on from (and would hurt less) if he convinced himself that he’d dodged a bullet. So, he focused on that exasperation he’d felt on the mission, on Romanoff’s evaluation of Stark, and on how conceited Stark looked in the posters hung in the subway. 

Tony Stark was a dick, and that was that and Steve didn’t have to think about him anymore.

_ [ Tony ]  _

“You’re a colossal dick, Tony Stark,” Pepper declared.

Biting down on a laugh, Tony stepped out of the elevator and started towards the kitchen where his friend’s voice had come from. With her jam-packed schedule, Pepper stopping by the tower had become increasingly rare, and Rhodey’s responsibilities to the Air Force had taken him overseas. These days, Tony’s correspondence with his friends consisted of 1am text conversations, his weekly video call with Rhodey, and whatever under the breath commentary he and Pepper shared at galas. Tony had become accustomed to the stillness of the once lively and glittering pent-house. Which was just fine because Tony was a busy man with plenty of projects to occupy his time and plenty of AC/DC to fill the silence. Still, an evening with Pepper was a welcome change.

Tony strolled into the kitchen and dropped heavily onto a stool at the kitchen island. 

“Yeah? What’d I do this time?” he asked, bemused.

Pepper slammed the freezer door shut and held out the empty ice cream carton for Tony to see.

“You don’t even like moose tracks,” Pepper grumbled.

“Sorry, I’ll have JARVIS restock our ice cream stores. Billionaire, remember? I’ll get you all the moose tracks you could want,” Tony laughed. He eyed the strands of hair spilling out of Pepper’s bun and the pinched look on her face. “Ice cream before dinner, Miss Potts? One of those days, huh?”

Pepper leaned against the counter and stated simply, “Meeting with Justin Hammer.”

“Rough.” Tony grimaced before breaking into a smile. “Tell me all the stupid shit he said this time. I could use a laugh.”

Pepper’s lips dipped into a disapproving frown for a second, but it didn’t last. She hopped onto the stool opposite him. “Okay, but only because you look like you need it, and you’ve been unsettlingly well-behaved lately.”

After Greenland, Tony had thrown himself into making it up to Pepper for all the headaches he caused her (namely, that speech he’d ditched and press conferences he’d stumbled in late to or missed altogether). Stark Industries was Pepper’s now, but Tony was still involved. So, he’d attended board meetings, tuned in for conference calls, and schmoozed at every stuffy dinner that came his way. He’d even sent a box of bagels (the woman considered donuts to be sugary abominations) to Pepper’s office although at the last second he’d replaced the cream cheese with a strawberry-flavored brand. 

“It’s not gonna last,” Tony said, shrugging off his suit jacket and averting his eyes from Pepper’s soft appreciative smile. “Come on, spill the beans on Hammer.”

It turned out that it took a whole hour and a half to fully discuss Hammer’s latest instance of mind-numbing incompetence, by the end of which both Tony and Pepper were in considerably higher spirits but starving for dinner. After finding nothing satisfactory in the fridge, they’d started rummaging through the cupboards.

“A-ha!” Pepper exclaimed, stretching an arm into the depths of the cabinet above the microwave. Tony looked up from where he was digging through the perplexingly large collection of pudding cups he’d discovered in a bottom drawer. Pepper strode over with the small box she’d found and held it in front of his face. “How do you feel about chicken noodle soup?”

This particular box of chicken noodle soup was decorated with stars and stripes, and the pasta was shaped like shields and helmets with big A’s. Rhodey had bought it as a gag gift for Tony’s birthday.

Scowling, Tony pushed the box away. “No thanks.”

Pepper frowned. “What, why not? Chicken noodle would be perfect right now.”

“Yeah well, maybe I’ve had enough of chicken noodle soup being so perfect,” Tony snapped. “I mean, it’s all gone to chicken noodle soup’s head, really. Thinks that just because they’re a classic meal and so adored by the American people that they’re entitled to boss everyone around. Just because they’ve been around for so long, it doesn’t mean they automatically know everything about everyone and who’s like their father or not. And I’d thought that chicken noodle soup sure was great, and god, wouldn’t it be something to be more like them. But nope, they’re just a pompous prick who can’t bear to be talked back to and won’t ever- ”

“Tony,  _ breathe _ .” Pepper interrupted, lowering herself next to him on the kitchen floor and taking Tony’s hand.

Tony looked down at their intertwined hands. 

“Been a while, huh,” Tony said, forcing a laugh and wiggling his fingers between Pepper’s. 

“What? Since we held hands?” Pepper’s frown deepened. “But I’m always dragging you around at galas.”

“No, I know,” Tony responded, easing their hands apart. The truth was Pepper steered him around at galas by linking arms or (if it was urgent) tugging at his elbow. Holding hands in such a public setting would mean a field day for gossip magazines. Really, Pepper only took Tony’s hand when he had one of these outbursts. It was a good thing, then, that it had been a while.

“Okay,” Pepper said, standing. “So, it’s a no to the chicken noodle soup. We can just order takeout. How’s Thai food sound?”

“Sounds mouth-watering.” 

Pepper pulled out her phone to place the order but paused, looking at Tony with concern in her eyes. Tony turned away and fixed his gaze on the cheesy magnets stuck on the refrigerator. He used to wake up to a new reminder tucked under one of those magnets almost everyday, even though Pepper could’ve easily asked JARVIS to relay the message. She’d known Tony liked the visible evidence that other people were around. 

And, Pepper still knew when something was eating at Tony. She walked over and leaned against the fridge Tony was glaring at.

“From before, whatever that was all about… you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“Nope.” Tony shrugged.

“Tony,” Pepper sighed. “I just bitched to you about Justin Hammer for over an hour. Let me return the favor.”

“Thanks, Pep,” Tony said, smiling ruefully. “But, it’s something I’ve been… trying not to think about?” With all his duties to SI occupying his time recently, he’d made sure he didn’t have the time to dwell on the incident. He was half surprised (mostly angry) that he hadn’t gotten over it by now and was apparently just as upset as he had been on that long flight back to the States. “Regardless, I don’t think I’m even legally allowed to talk about this… individual.”

Pepper arched an eyebrow. “Is this person an escapee or something?”

Tony shook his head. “Far from it. Just a person wrapped up in SHIELD regulation, stuff I don’t intend to mess with.”

“Very unlike you.” Pepper smirked.

“Hey, I only meddle where it’s worth my time,” Tony said, a hand over his chest in mock offense.

“Right, because reprogramming my laptop to do nothing but play the Strawberry Shortcake movie on a loop at full volume was worth your time.”

“‘Twas worth so much time.” Tony grinned. He’d forgotten he’d done that. 

“I opened that laptop in the middle of my biggest presentation of the month,” Pepper groaned.

“You love strawberries.”

“Uh huh, just like you would love a long dinner conversation with Justin Hammer.” She crossed her arms with a smug smile.

Tony’s smile dropped, and he leapt to his feet. “Pepper, you didn’t.”

“Payback is payback, Tony,” Pepper sang. “It’s not for a few weeks, anyway.”

“Dinner with hammer is dinner with Hammer, no matter how far off it is,” Tony wailed.

“He’s the one who suggested it, not me,” Pepper added, looking only slightly apologetic. “You know Hammer, he’ll just pester us about it every time we see each other until one of us agrees, and it wasn’t going to be me again.”

Defeated, Tony fell back onto his stool.

“I’ll order dinner. The pad thai will cheer you up,” Pepper said, patting him on the back and leaving the room to make the call.

As repugnant as one-on-one dinner with Hammer would be, Tony could still be grateful that dreading the occasion would take his mind off that other unpleasant experience. He was a futurist afterall. Better to focus on the oncoming trouble than to bemoan past mistakes with a man who was a relic of the past himself and nauseatingly patriotic and prim and self-important and maddeningly-

Yeah. Tony’s eyes were on the future, and Rogers was in the past and of no concern of Tony’s. The man had said so himself. Tony didn’t need to wonder whether Rogers still had that tightness around his eyes, like he was battling against a kind of exhaustion Tony wasn’t sure he could comprehend but all the same felt familiar. There was no reason for Tony to still worry over the half-second long but unforgettable look of astonishment on Rogers’s face every time Tony gave him a smile. Tony shouldn’t be wondering if Rogers’s hands had healed and if they needed holding.

Tony rubbed a hand over his face.

“Tony? You okay?” Pepper asked, reentering the kitchen. “You look… distraught.”

He rolled his shoulders and straightened up a bit. “Annoyed, actually. Not at you. At other things. People. A person. Shouldn’t be, though, not after they... I shouldn’t do a lot of things, but that never stops me.” 

He glanced at Pepper, and she gave him a fond smile. “No, it never does.”

Tony sighed. “This time’s different.”

“Oh yeah?”

Tony had too much work that needed his attention, and Rogers had made it crystal clear that his concern was unwanted if not abhorred.

“It better be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um so, apparently I finished this chapter more than a mf-ing month ago.  
> As I was writing, I was all worried that chapter 4 might end up being twice the average length of the chapters so far. It was something like only a few days ago that the vestiges of my basic math skills decided they'd make a comeback, and it occurred to me that I could totally just split the damn thing in two. Out of curiosity, I looked back through the editing history of the document, and well, would you look at that, I could've had this thing posted ages ago.  
> Anyway, I've finally updated this fic, and I'm maybe sixty-five-ish percent done with chap 5, hurrah :)


End file.
